


Nights in 221B

by xxDustNight88



Series: Nights in Diagon Alley [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Depression, Drinking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxDustNight88/pseuds/xxDustNight88
Summary: When Hermione leaves the wizarding world behind, choosing to aid Sherlock in his desperate search for Moriarty, she learns much more about the consulting detective than she ever thought possible.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Spring everyone! I promised a sequel and here it is! It's only one chapter so far, but I'm excited to get this started. This will be updated sporadically and I'm not certain exactly how long the chapters will be. As always, leave some feedback when you're finished reading! Thank you GaeilgeRua for beta reading this so it could go out this evening! The rating is for later chapters. Enjoy loves!

Sitting by the window and watching as cars drove by in the darkness, Hermione thought back on her first few weeks spent in 221B Baker Street. She couldn’t help the smile that brushed her lips as she reminisced about her trip from Diagon Alley to this cluttered little flat. Sherlock must have known how much she was second guessing herself that night as he led her by hand through the nearly deserted streets of London. Her cheeks heated as she recalled him occasionally pulling her into dark alleys, pressing his body into hers as he treated her to fevered kisses that left her near breathless.

Any trepidations she may have felt about leaving the Wizarding world behind were lost by the time they reached the black door with the crooked little knocker. She could barely keep her hands to herself by the time he’d opened the door and led her up the narrow staircase into the flat. She hadn’t known it was possible to kiss away sadness, but Sherlock was always opening her up to new experiences, wasn’t he?

That first night in 221B they’d spent entirely in his room, intertwined within one another so thoroughly they both forgot the entire reason she was there to begin with. She fell asleep sometime just before sunrise, listening to Sherlock send text after text on his mobile. When she’d finally woken just before noon, she found herself alone in the bed. An uneasiness had settled around her, being in a new and unfamiliar place as she was, but she redressed and went in search of her lover nevertheless.

She’d found him in the main room, standing on a long, leather sofa and staring intently at the wall behind it.  The wall, battered with bullet holes and yellow spray-paint, was covered in newspaper clippings, string, and Polaroid pictures of Moriarty’s victims. It unnerved her, the way he was staring at the wall without apparently even noticing her presence. He’d warned her of his quirks, but now she was seeing them firsthand. He was truly in his Mind Palace, she realized, as he began waving his hands about and mumbling under his breath about locations and Muggles.

Not wanting to disturb him, she’d busied herself with research of her own. At some point that afternoon, she’d met the infamous Mrs. Hudson, who brought tea and sandwiches. She’d seemed rather alarmed to find Hermione there, but pleased nonetheless. By the time the sun was gone and the moon was high in the sky, Hermione felt more comfortable in the little flat, and ready to take on whatever came next. Mrs. Hudson had promised to take her shopping for things she may need, seeing as she’d left everything behind in Diagon Alley.

That night, after hours of being ensconced in his Mind Palace, Sherlock came back to reality. He’d plopped himself down on the leather sofa, covering his face with one hand while reaching out to her with the other. She uncurled herself from where she was reading in front of the fire and walked over to him to intertwine her fingers with his own. Tugging gently, Sherlock indicated that he wanted her to lie down next to him, so she did, curling into his embrace. It was unbelievably calming.

And that’s how they spent their days and their nights. Sherlock and Hermione would both research and enjoy each other’s company. She hadn’t heard from Harry, Draco, or anyone else from her world, and it was a relief. Her days were filled with tea and gossiping with Mrs. Hudson, and her nights were filled entirely with Sherlock. Together they would research, discuss theories, and get to know each other better.

Bringing herself back to the present, Hermione sighed and turned away from the window only to find the room occupied. Before she could react, however, the man spoke to her. “You’re certainly not who I expected to find here.”

“Who are you?” Hermione gasped, moving away from the window with her wand already defensively in hand. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, not liking that this man managed to sneak up on her unnoticed.  “How did you get in here?”

Sighing with exasperation, the man tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket before glancing around. When he again glanced at her, he shrugged. “I guess Sherlock didn’t tell you about me. Then again, why would he?”

Heart pounding, Hermione waited for an answer, her wand tucked just out of sight from the Muggle. She was fairly certain he held no true threat, but with Moriarty on the loose, one couldn’t be too careful. Sherlock was currently asleep, having stayed up most of the night and day fiddling away on his computer, so it was just her at the moment. Taking a tentative step forward, she repeated her question. “Who _are_ you?”

“Dr. John Watson, and you must be Hermione Granger.”

Mouth popping open in surprise, Hermione found herself unable to respond. How did John know her name? Where did he come from--or rather--why was he _here_? And why was he staring at her with so much hatred on his face? She knew none of these answers, but she intended to find out.

“Ah,” came Sherlock’s deep voice as he strode in from the kitchen, “I see you received my text messages.” He was dressed in his usual suit, just finishing buttoning the front of the white shirt. “I believe it’s time we put aside our differences in order to track down Moriarty, wouldn’t you agree?”

In response, John punched Sherlock squarely in the nose before turning and storming from the room. Hermione simply stood there in horror as the blood ran from Sherlock’s broken nose, staining his newly pressed shirt. Currently, she had absolutely no idea what was what going on. Something had transpired between Sherlock and John, something she was not yet privy to. There were many questions she needed answers for, but one thing was certain, nights in 221B had only just begun.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter! I’m so glad you’re liking the sequel so far. My goal is for weekly updates, but with my busy time of year at school, I can’t make promises. Anyway, enjoy this and the feels it may give you! Once again thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading for me! Thanks and leave feedback if you can! xxDustNight

_ Chapter Two _

Setting Sherlock’s shirt to soak in the sink, Hermione stared into the sitting room where he was currently seated. He was dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief while using his other hand to idly scroll through email on his computer. He hadn’t said much since John’s abrupt exit, but she was determined to get to the bottom of this. Wiping her hands to dry on a towel, she bit her lip as she thought about the detective and the doctor. From what she’d understood, the two were close friends, so what could have happened to make the latter so violent?

Heading into the sitting room, she conjured some tea for the two of them before settling into the chair across from Sherlock’s. He glanced up at her as he set aside his computer, exchanging it for the tea. Meeting her heavy stare, he relaxed into the chair, crossing one ankle over a knee. Stomach uneasy, Hermione set aside her tea before even taking a single sip. Almost in exasperation, she threw up her hands.

“What was that all about, Sherlock?”

“When unusually stressed, John tends to display aggression rather than use his words.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione reworded her question to try and get more out of the stubborn man. “Tell me why, Sherlock. Tell me _why_ Dr. Watson came into your flat and punched you in the face, because if you don’t, I’ll find out in my own way.” Smiling, she absentmindedly twirled her wand between her fingers as she met his gaze.

He raised his eyebrows at her threat, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you insinuating, Ms. Granger, that you’re able to read my mind with your magic?” Her answering smile told him all he needed to know, so with a sigh, Sherlock gave into her. “One could say that John and I have not been on the best of terms this past year. After he married Mary, he and I sort of grew apart, and then, I met you.”

“I thought you were alright with Mary?” Hermione asked as she dropped her wand into her lap and grabbed her teacup instead. “I never got the impression that you and Watson had issues; although, now that I think about it, you never really talked about him much.”

“No,” Sherlock replied, face showing no emotion. “Thinking about John, or even mentioning him…it hurt too much.” Glancing away, Sherlock sipped at his tea, not wanting Hermione to see the pain reflected in his eyes.

“Sherlock?” She said his name softly, concern making her stomach clench as she contemplated whether to ask her next question. In the end, though, she knew she had to, so after taking a deep breath, she forged on. “You were in love with him.”

He flinched, and that was answer enough alone. Swallowing audibly, Sherlock lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I hurt John immensely when I faked my death. I was all he had, and, selfishly, I took that away from him. Even if it was to save his life, I knew tearing myself away in such a manner could break him. So, when I returned, I was unsurprised to find him involved with Mary.” Setting his tea on the side table, he carried on. “I’d had this vision in my head that upon my return, John would declare his affections for me and we’d settle into an easy life of solving crimes and caring for one another. But as always, I missed something in my deduction.”

“What was that?”

“John did not love me in the same way I loved him.” Clearing his throat, Sherlock suddenly stood from the chair, stalking towards the windows and looking out into the night. “So I let him go—I let him wed Mary and I eased into the background, preparing for a life of loneliness.”

Pulling her feet up into the chair, Hermione wrapped her arms around her legs before resting her chin between her knees. “But that doesn’t explain what happened here tonight. I guess I’m failing to see why he would come here and just…break your face.”

Snorting with derision, Sherlock placed his palm flat against the cool of the glass. “The last he and I talked, I may have insinuated that now that he had Mary, he didn’t need me any longer.”

“That isn’t so horrible,” Hermione started, but he cut her off.

“I told him I no longer needed him as well. I explained that he should forget about me and focus on making a family with Mary.” Trailing off, Sherlock tried to get his emotions under control, but knew he was failing miserably.

As he turned away from the window to face her once more, Hermione gasped at the wretched look on his face. He knew he looked devastated, he could feel his heart breaking all over again as he relived the pain of his past. Falling in love with John had been a slow awakening, one he’d never expected. One day John was his flatmate and friend, and the next it was as if he was his entire world. Having to leave that all behind, and knowing he couldn’t have him, almost killed him…almost drove him back to the drugs. Returning and finding the short man was no longer in his grasp was just as awful. Stumbling into Diagon Alley and Hermione saved him, entirely.

“He had to know you were lying.”

“He did, but that did not stop him from being angry with me.” Sighing, Sherlock tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he stood in the middle of the sitting room. “We haven’t spoken since.”

Understanding rolled through Hermione, and before she could even attempt to voice her suspicions, Sherlock did something to surprise her—he admitted his true feelings.

“The truth of the matter, Hermione, is not that I _was_ in love with John—it’s that despite the true and insurmountable affection I have for you, I can’t help but feel some semblance of love for him even now.”

Sliding to her feet, Hermione stood from the chair and padded across the room to stand in front of her lover. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek in her hand and brushed her thumb across his cheekbone, taking care not to make his face hurt any worse than it already did. “Sherlock,” she whispered, her heart aching at the look in his sea-coloured eyes, “there’s nothing wrong with being in love with two people at the same time. I’m sure if you just talk to John, he’ll understand you never meant to truly push him away. He’s your best friend, he’ll come around.”

Covering her hand with his own, Sherlock leaned down and captured her lips in a chaste kiss. She sighed into the embrace, but pulled back after only a moment. Now was not the time for kisses and distractions. They had a case to solve, and unfortunately, they needed John’s help. Now that she knew more about Sherlock’s relationship with the man, she could move forward with trying to get the two back to working together, but at the same time…she worried what that meant for the two of them. Mary was still in the picture, but if John found out Sherlock’s true feelings, what would happen to not only Mary, but herself as well? Only time would tell.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little longer than a week. I’ve been trying to finish the next chapter for Empire (which is done and being beta read btw), so this got pushed to the back-burner a bit. Enjoy! And a huge thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading for me again! xxDustNight

The atmosphere in 221B was a tad on the tense side over the next few days. Sherlock didn't speak much, lost in his Mind Palace. Hermione spent the days researching and the nights lying awake in bed listening to Sherlock play violin in the front room or rustle about in the kitchen. She supposed she slept too, at some point, because she’d suddenly find Sherlock curled around her as the sun was rising, his gentle breaths ruffling the hair around her face.

There was still no word from Harry, or Draco even, regarding Moriarty and the case. It was maddening, this endless waiting game. How long would it be before he resurfaced, ready to wreak havoc on London once again? The waiting game was starting to get to her, a sort of Cabin Fever building up. It was about this time, she decided to take matters into her own hands. So, while Sherlock was sleeping one evening, dozing on the sofa, Hermione grabbed his mobile and snuck outside for a cigarette break.

It was easy to find the name she wanted, Sherlock had so few contacts in the device. Scrolling down, she found the name ‘Mary’ and hit send. It rang three times, and Hermione was starting to think she wouldn't answer, when a voice broke through the other side of the line. A cheerful, sing-song voice said, “Sherlock, is that you?”

“Oh...um…” Hermione hesitated, unsure what to say now that she had John's wife on the line. “Actually no. I'm his... His…” What _was_ she?

“You must be Hermione. John mentioned you were staying with Sherlock. Is everything alright? He hasn't gone off his rocker again has he?”

“No. No, nothing like that.” She paused, watching a few people walk by the front stoop where she was standing before carrying on. “I actually called because I'm worried about Sherlock and John. They are had a bit of a falling-out, it seems.”

“Oh yes. _That_.” There was a sound of shuffling and the closing of a door, and Hermione assumed the woman was moving somewhere more private. “John came home with a bruised hand about a week ago. I'm guessing their reunion did not go well.”

“Not exactly.” Hermione took a puff of her cigarette and held it for a moment before going on, “I was thinking, it might be time to intervene. Perhaps, we could arrange for them to run into each other? Like a small case or something?”

“I like the way your mind works,” Mary giggled. “So, what did you have planned?”

Smiling around her cigarette, Hermione switched the mobile to her other ear. “Okay, well here's what I was thinking…”

. . . . . . . . . . .

Two nights later found Hermione and Sherlock slinking down a darkened alleyway. She and Mary had set up a few false leads for both Sherlock and John to follow on their own, apart from each other, but that would lead them together at some point. Mary seemed far more skilled at manipulation than Hermione originally thought. It came in handy, but she also knew she should keep this woman at arm's length. It may have been a few years, but her MLE skills were still as strong as ever. _Constant Vigilance_ , as Moody would say.

“So, this is what you do for a living?” She whispered to Sherlock, waiting for him to tell her what they would do next.

“Yes,” he murmured, eyes watching the street across the way. “I've already solved this case by the way.”

“You have!” Hermione's hushed exclaim earned her a scowl, and she flinched. “Sorry.”

“It was preposterously easy to solve. I knew who the culprit was before we even left the flat.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione asked, “Then why did you drag us all over the place?”

He's smirked, reaching out and grabbing hold of her jacket sleeve, pulling gently until he could wrap his arms around her. “Because, it was important to you.” He kissed her then, using the collar of her jacket to tug her close.

Grinning, she deepened the kiss. He was always so clever. “Alright, smarty pants,” she joked pulling back to grin up at him. “Tell me the outcome of the case then.” They still had some time to waste before John and Mary arrived.

“Very well,” Sherlock muttered, holding her at arm’s length to stare into her face. “The email from the client was a ruse, one to spark my interest, but not consume my every thought. So when you pestered me into checking my email this afternoon, I knew you were starting to feel the need to get out of the flat. The photo attachments were taken over a period of three days, as determined by the amount of foot traffic in the background.” He paused, enjoying the way her mouth popped open in surprise. It caused a certain stirring down below, one he’d have to take care of later when they were home and alone. “There was never a true burglary, the items in question simply stowed away for safekeeping.”

“How could you _possibly_ know that?”

The smirk on his face grew as he began to explain, “The footprints in the mud.” When she still gave him a questioning stare, he shrugged and pointed to his feet. “The footprints indicated someone walked into the house, but the ones that walked away were no deeper than before. If the woman had been carrying a heavy suitcase full of family heirlooms, her shoes would have sunk further into the mud on the way out of the house than on the way in.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, flabbergasted that he’d figured this out so easily. Maybe Mary wasn’t as clever as she originally let on. “Okay, but then who do you think sent the email, and who “stole” the heirlooms?”

“Oh, Hermione,” Sherlock purred, stepping closer to her and using his index finger to tip her chin upwards. “You sent the email while Mary did all the leg work.”

She huffed, shaking her head at how simple he made this all seem. “I guess I have a lot of work cut out for me if I ever want to fool the great Sherlock Holmes, don’t I?”

“Don’t feel discouraged, love; you are not the first to try and trick me with smoke and mirror games of the mind.” Sliding his hand into the pocket of his infamous coat, he extracted his mobile, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You might have also thought to delete the call history on my phone.”

When her mouth popped open in surprise yet again, he took the opportunity to kiss her, his tongue slipping inside the wet heat of her mouth for a taste. When he’d finished snogging her senseless, he whispered against her parted lips, “Now, shall we head inside the restaurant over there and get a table while we wait for John and Mary? John takes far longer than I do to solve a case.”

Laughing more at herself than anything, Hermione gave into Sherlock’s playful mood, glad that he wasn’t angry at her and Mary for trying to deceive him. “Only if you pretend you didn’t solve this case in a matter of seconds,” she said, still smiling before taking his hand and starting to lead him across the street.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

She gave him a stern look as they paused in front of the restaurant. As she opened her mouth to further admonish him for his smugness, there was a strangled sound to her left, a scuffle, and then a sigh of defeat. Turning, Hermione found Mary successfully holding John in place, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she tried not to laugh.

“Mary, John; fancy meeting you here,” Sherlock quipped, pulling a large shit-eating grin across his face.

“I hate all of you, just so you know that,” John groused, glaring at the two women first before setting his sights on the consulting detective.

“We know,” they all answered in unison before Hermione opened the door to the restaurant.

Dinner tonight was certainly going to be an interesting affair. Nevertheless, it needed to happen, so she let the others go ahead of her before she too followed suit. Hopefully, John would listen, and Sherlock would apologize sincerely. Without the two of them working together, Hermione really didn’t know if they could catch Moriarty once and for all.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for making you wait a month for an update. That was never my intention. Things just got SUPER busy at work and Empire sucked me in as well. I hope you enjoy this chapter. The implied relationship between Sherlock and John comes into play! Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading for me again! xxDustNight

Hermione did her best to ensure that the dinner wasn’t nearly as awkward as it could have been. Unfortunately, she failed miserably.  Drink orders were taken in an uncomfortable silence, and delivered that way as well. Menus were perused with very few words exchanged between Mary and John, and she and Mary. Sherlock stayed silent, tipping his head this way and that as he observed the interactions between the three others seated at the table by the window. She almost wanted to scold him, telling him it was rude to stare, but Hermione knew it was what he was used to. No one else seemed bothered by it anyway, so she tried to relax.

After their order was taken and wine poured, Hermione decided to try and break the uncomfortable silence. Clearing her throat, she asked Mary, “So Sherlock told me you used to work as a sort of free agent. What made you get out of that line of work?”

Mary shot Sherlock a glance to which he gave a quick smile before going back to his stony-faced façade. “Well,” Mary began, sipping on her wine, “there was an incident that forced my hand. I had to leave and return to civilian life. I’ve found it to be better than I ever imagined, though.” She gave John a sweet smile, which he reluctantly returned.

“I can understand that,” Hermione replied with a shrug. “I used to work as a Magical Law Enforcement officer before opening my tea and book shop. The simple life is much better than all the combat, in my opinion.” When John let out a harsh bark of laughter, she turned her attention to him with a quirked eyebrow. “Do you disagree, Dr. Watson?”

“John—” Mary started in a warning tone, but he ignored her, meeting Hermione’s stare from across the small table.

“A simple life? Is that what you think you’ll have living with Sherlock?” His question was meant as an insult, and it appeared Sherlock took it as such, his eyes narrowing as John blatantly ignored him to continue talking to Hermione. “Living and working with Sherlock is anything but simple, not to mention the man himself. I’ve never met someone more complicated and immature.”

“Is that how you truly feel, John?”

Sherlock’s question caused them all to turn his way, and Hermione felt her heart break at the broken look in his sea-colored eyes. Wanting to reach out and take hold of his hand, she refrained, instead reaching for her wine. They needed to talk this out, just the two of them, or their relationship would never be repaired. Hating the pain radiating from her lover, she sat back and waited for John to respond.

“As a matter of fact, it is, Sherlock,” John said unabashedly. “In fact,” he continued, sitting up and leaning closer to the detective so he could whisper harshly without the surrounding tables overhearing. “I’ve felt that way for a very long time, and it wasn’t until you told me you no longer had need of me, that it really sank in, though.”

“I didn’t want to hold you back from finding true happiness, John. If I hadn’t pushed you away, and into Mary’s waiting arms, you would never have gone on your own. I’m aware I am a difficult person to live and work with. I told you that the very first day that we met, or have you forgotten?”

John opened his mouth to reply, without thinking first, but Mary reached over and placed a firm hold on his arm. “John, wait just a minute,” she cautioned as their server brought over their meal.

His jaw clenched harshly as the four sat in tense silence. Once the steaming plates of pasta were settled and they were alone once more, John shoved aside his plate and pointed a finger in Sherlock’s direction. “Forgotten? How the bloody hell could I forget? I remember _everything_ that was ever said or done between the two of us. That’s the problem, Sherlock. I remember everything, and yet it appears you are the one that forgot what we meant to one another.” Scoffing, John re-crossed his arms and shook his head. “You disappear into a bizarre world within our own and then show up with _her_.” He used his chin to gesture towards Hermione.

It wasn’t really her place to speak, but now Hermione felt the need to defend herself, and Sherlock as well. “Look, I know Sherlock coming into the world I am from wasn’t ideal. Hell, it’s actually against the law for Muggles to know anything about us and where we are from. But, that’s not the point. The point is, Sherlock was doing you a favor by allowing you to be with Mary. She’s good for you, even I can see that.” Pausing, Hermione wet her lips and gave Sherlock a side-glance. “As for me… I can see how my sudden appearance could be such a bother to you. It’s clear how you feel about Sherlock.”

Mary agreed with her, nodding her head with a knowing smirk on her lips. “John, you may not realize it, but Sherlock means a great deal to you, even now, after everything that has happened.”

Giving his wife a hard glare, John grumbled on. “Mary, you know as well as I do what a nuisance Sherlock can be.” His words were met with a roll of the eyes as Mary tucked her blonde hair behind one ear.

“Nuisance or not, Sherlock has always been there for us,” she countered, setting aside her silverware to drink deeply from her wineglass.

“He’s told me some of the things you’ve done for each other, John,” Hermione broke into their conversation. “How you saved him all those times…even the very first night you were together.”

“See?” Mary pointed out, “You and Sherlock are meant to be friends. This is getting ridiculous. Just make up already! He needs your help finding Moriarty and bringing him to an end once and for all.” She was smiling as she said this, but there was a slight narrowing of her eyes that indicated she meant business.

John sighed and then looked from his wife to Hermione before finally glancing at Sherlock. The detective was sitting there pensively, taking everything in as he always did and giving nothing away. They’d long since forgotten about eating, their pasta growing cold as John and Sherlock stared at each other, both too stubborn to break the silence. However, Hermione was still there, insistent on getting the Baker Street Boys back together.

“Don’t you see, John,” Hermione said gently, reaching forward and placing her hand on his tweed covered forearm. “Sherlock will always need you, more than anyone else in his life.”

“He has you now,” John mumbled, not quite meeting her eyes. He didn’t want to admit how much he missed working with Sherlock, as well as just being in his presence…and being his… _friend_.

She gave him a sad sort of smile before saying, “He may have me, and love me in his own way too, but he’s always loved you most, and always will.” Hermione let go of John’s arm, moving it to sit on Sherlock’s instead to comfort him in case John responded negatively. “So what do you say, John? Can you forgive Sherlock for his horrible lack in people skills and help us with this case?”

The doctor said nothing at first, jaw clenched as he pondered over an answer. Everyone sat in silence, waiting for someone to break. It appeared, though, that Sherlock could no longer bear the tension. He sighed heavily, face going soft as John finally met his gaze. There was a slight lessening in the hardness of John’s face also as they looked to one another. Shaking his head, Sherlock spoke, a myriad of unspoken promises and apologies in a single syllable.

“John?”

Hanging his head, John finally conceded, knowing in his heart that he couldn’t completely shut Sherlock out of his life. “Alright,” he agreed, exhaling harshly before lifting his eyes to stare at his old friend. “Alright, Sherlock. I’ll help you find Moriarty. I just need you to promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Sherlock rushed to agree, barely able to conceal the glee he felt at John wanting to be a part of his life once more. “Anything at all.”

Chuckling, John gestured towards Hermione and then Sherlock. “I want to know how _this_ happened, how the ‘Married to His Work’ guy finally fell in love. _And_ I want to know where the hell this secret world is. Your brother’s had me searching for _months_ and I couldn’t find hide nor hair of the place.”

Sharing a smirk, Sherlock indicated that Hermione could answer for the both of them. “That seems reasonable, John. When we capture Moriarty, I promise Sherlock and I will take you and Mary to Diagon Alley to celebrate at my flat.” As excitement lit up the doctor’s face, she added, “And as for how the two of us got together, I think that’s a conversation best told over dessert.”

“I agree,” Mary chimed in, reaching over and sliding John’s plate back in front of him. “Now, that we’ve taken care of that horrid awkwardness, let’s have dinner.” When Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, she stuck him with a hard stare and pointed her finger at him. “I know what you’re about to say, Mister I Don’t Eat When Working A Case. You’ll eat, and you’ll like it.”

Hermione laughed, laying her head on Sherlock’s shoulder as he grumbled a reply but picked up his fork nonetheless. As they all tucked into their meal, Hermione couldn’t help but feel relieved. The evening certainly wasn’t what she expected it to be, but as she observed the way John watched Sherlock when he wasn’t looking, she couldn’t help but wonder what else lay below the surface of their relationship. Pushing such pondering aside for the time being, Hermione decided that, for tonight at least, she would just enjoy the company of her new companions. They were content and willing to work together, and that’s what mattered right now.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am pretty certain this is my favorite chapter of this story yet! I hope you enjoy! We’ve got a little bit of Shermione action coupled with some humor. So much fun! Thank you to everyone for the feedback and love! You’re all so amazing! Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading despite not feeling the best! I couldn’t do this without you! xxDustNight

Sighing in contentment, Hermione woke slowly, enjoying the feel of Sherlock’s fingers trailing up and down her naked back. She hummed happily into her pillow, rolling onto her side to stare up at Sherlock in the dim light from his bedside lamp. If she didn’t see the slight quirk of his eyebrow, she would think he had no idea she was awake as his fingers never stopped their movements. Hermione loved quiet moments like this—Sherlock reading his science books while she dozed or read the paper. Kissing his hip, she finally pulled his attention from his book.

“What time is it,” she asked as she sat up, voice husky from sleep.

Sherlock watched as she wrapped the navy-colored sheet around her body before answering. “Just past ten, I believe.” He sank back into the pillows, not quite ready to leave the bed. It wasn’t often he and Hermione had an evening all to themselves. Not since John came back into his life, anyway. The doctor was often found at the flat helping them with the Moriarty case these past few weeks.

“Sherlock!” Hermione, exclaimed reaching out to grab hold of his arm. “You let me sleep the entire evening away.” After all that rest, Hermione would never fall back to sleep tonight.

Dragging a hand through his tousled curls, Sherlock couldn’t keep the smug grin from his face. As he spoke, his voice took on a deep, sultry tone that he knew did the most wonderful things to his witch. “You were worn out from the afternoon’s activities. I thought it best to let you rest in case you were up for another round.”

She playfully swatted his arm but couldn't help the slight rosy tinge that appeared on her pale cheeks. “You should have woken me up earlier. We do have a case to solve, after all.” Despite her scolding tone, Hermione allowed the sheet to fall away in favor of having Sherlock’s gaze rake over her body. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Hmm,” the detective hummed, reaching out to cup her supple breast. His thumb brushed over her already hardened nipple, earning a gasp for his actions. “With no new leads or information, I find that there is a far more interesting activity to hold my attention tonight.” His nimble fingers tweaked her nipple then, causing her back to arch.

“Oh!” Hermione's quiet exclamation only spurred him on, his other hand moving to slide up her thigh. Wanting more, she moved so she was straddling Sherlock, allowing him easier access to her body. “And what might that be, Mr. Holmes?” she asked, sighing as his fingers drew circles around her swollen nub.

“Making love to my brilliant witch,” Sherlock murmured, leaning forward to capture her already swollen lips in a heated kiss. Moaning into the kiss, he enjoyed the way Hermione rushed to move his hardened cock to her entrance. As she slid down onto him, they both groaned at the feeling of completion. “I adore you, Hermione,” he couldn’t help but gasp into the crook of her neck as she set a steady pace. “Nights are no longer unbearable now that I have you.”

“You’ve helped me escape my demons too,” she replied, peppering his face with kisses between each word. “I would have remained alone with just my books and tea to keep be company if you hadn’t stumbled into my life.” Hermione was picking up momentum now, wanting to reach that glorious high the same time Sherlock did. She could tell they were both close.

“Yes,” Sherlock gasped, taking hold of her hips and helping her ride him to oblivion. They both ignored the buzzing coming from the nightstand, allowing whoever was calling to go to voicemail. All that mattered in this moment was each other, and as Hermione ground down onto his hips, Sherlock knew he wouldn't last much longer. “Beautiful. Astounding. Mesmerizing.” 

Hermione giggled, panting a little as she threw her head back. She was so focused on Sherlock and the wonderful building of desire in her lower abdomen that she barely heard the pounding of footsteps on the staircase. In fact, neither of them noticed anything amiss until there was a sputtering in the doorway, followed by a string of curse words that would make Mrs. Weasley blush redder than her hair.

With a squeal, Hermione tumbled off of Sherlock’s lap, quickly reaching for the sheet to cover herself. In doing so, she left Sherlock’s glistening cock in plain view, and boy did John get a view. Quickly covering his eyes with one hand, the doctor backed out of the doorway and disappeared. Eyes wide in a panic, Hermione gestured at Sherlock’s obvious lack of discomfort.

“Sherlock!” She hissed, “Aren’t you going to _do_ something?”

“Yes. Right.” He cleared his throat and called out to the open door. “John, since you are still lingering in the hall, would you be so kind as to shut the door. We’ll be finished here in a few moments. Perhaps you could put on some tea.” He then looked towards Hermione’s obviously disgruntled face. Frowning he asked, “What?”

“I think the _mood_ has changed, wouldn’t you agree? Your best friend...and…” She paused. “ _John_ just saw us having sex.” She bit her lip, unsure if pointing out that the previous person who held Sherlock’s affection had just seen him fucking another _woman,_ no less, was the right thing to do. Standing and moving to where her clothes were discarded earlier in the evening, Hermione tried to be a bit more tactful. “We’ll finish later, alright?”

Sighing obnoxiously, Sherlock let his head fall back against the pillow. “Very well, but you will resume the exact position you were in previously. I love watching your breasts bounce each time my cock enters your core.” When there was another choking noise from the hallway, Sherlock threw back the covers wrapped around his feet and stomped over to shut the door. “If you’re going to eavesdrop, John, you could at least pretend not to hear.” The door slamming shut cut off any reply from the doctor.

Hermione slapped a palm over her face, choosing not to say anything this time. Sometimes it was best just to let Sherlock alone when it came to his lack of people skills. The couple finished dressing in silence before joining John in the main room of 221B. Despite his abrupt entrance, John had been kind enough to make the tea Sherlock all but demanded. She took hers with a demure smile, not quite meeting John’s eyes.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, taking a seat in her new chair, situated next to Sherlock’s. She sipped the warm liquid, allowing it to calm her frazzled nerves.

“You’re welcome,” John replied, cheeks looking a bit flushed as he, no doubt, recalled what he’d seen moments before. He handed Sherlock a cup as well before sitting in his usual chair with his own tea. “I apologize for just barging in like that, but I did try calling first. I didn’t realize you were uh--predisposed.”

“It’s alright.”

“Horrid timing.”

“Sherlock!”

“What?!”

“You _know_ what,” Hermione chastised her lover before turning and giving John a tight lipped smile. “It’s in the past. Now, what was so urgent that couldn’t wait another half hour?” Hermione ignored the glare she felt Sherlock giving her, eventually noticing when he moved to the window to stare out into the night.

“It’s the case…”

“There’s been another death.”

Hermione whipped around in her chair to gape at Sherlock. He was holding back the curtain, red and blue lights reflecting on his face from the road below. Before she could ask how he knew, there was the sound of running on the staircase and a man Hermione had never seen before entered the room. His hair was greying and he looked back and forth between Hermione and John before spotting Sherlock by the window.

“When?” Sherlock asked, stepping forward and sliding his hands into the pockets of his suit pants.

“About two hours ago. I sent you and John a text.” The man gestured at the doctor with his head. “You never answered.”

“I was occupied with other activities.” Sherlock waved off the man’s comment, moving to stand behind Hermione’s chair. He placed both hands on the top, narrowing his eyes at the man. “Lestrade, this better be worthy of the disruption to my evening.”

Hermione swallowed, finally understanding who this man was. Greg Lestrade, the inspector from Scotland Yard that employed Sherlock from time to time. Standing, she approached him and held out her hand. “I’m Hermione Granger,” she introduced herself. “I’m here working on the Moriarty case as well. What new information can you tell us?”

“Uh…” the Inspector looked confused, giving both John and Sherlock a wary look. When Sherlock rolled his eyes and nodded, indicating he could continue, Lestrade cleared his throat and revealed the news. “There’s been another homicide linked to Moriatry, we believe.”

“Who was killed?” Hermione asked, almost afraid of the answer. It was getting more difficult to hear about the Muggle, Muggleborn, and Halfblood deaths. She waited with bated breath as Lestrade flipped through his little notebook looking for the right name. In the silence, Hermione resumed her place on her chair, taking comfort that Sherlock was closeby.

“Creevy. Dennis Creevy. He was found dead in an alleyway near King’s Crossing just past eight this evening. An ‘I O U’ was painted on the wall behind the body with the victim’s own blood.” Lestrade flipped the notebook shut and slid it back into his coat pocket.

Glad to already be sitting, Hermione felt all the blood rush from her head. Dennis Creevy. She’d gone to Hogwarts with him… And his brother, Colin, had died fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts. This was all too much. Jumping to her feet, she began pacing the floor between the chairs. She could feel the gazes of everyone on her as she wrapped her arms around her middle and attempted not to cry.

“You knew him.”

Stopping, she turned towards Sherlock and nodded. “Yes. I went to school with him. He has a family. A wife and two or three kids, I believe.” She swallowed, hard, tears definitely threatening to fall now. This was all too real. She wasn’t supposed to be working on cases, yet here she was, right in the middle of it all.

“Who are you again?” Lestrade asked, giving her a penetrating stare. “Sherlock, why are you always involving civilians in the cases. Damn it, now I’m going to have to take her down to the station.”

“Entirely out of the question, Lestrade,” Sherlock snapped, stepping around the chair to place a comforting arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Hermione has previously worked as a Magical Law Enforcement officer and is the brightest witch of her age. She is not a suspect in this case. Too many of her people have been killed because of Moriarty. She is here to help bring him to justice.”

“ _Her_ people?” Lestrade asked incredulously, glancing at John for backup.

“Here we go,” John sighed, setting aside his empty teacup and preparing for an interesting show. He smirked up at his three companions, eagerly awaiting this revelation.

“Hermione is a witch.”

“I’m sorry? Did I just hear you say she is a _witch_?” Lestrade was openly gaping at Hermione now, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Like with magical powers and spells?”

There was an awkward bit of silence where Hermione bit her lip, Sherlock stewed at Lestrade’s obliviousness, and John just chuckled. Finally, it was Hermione who stepped forward, breaking the tension and exhaling harshly. So much for the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy...

“Um, yes. I’m a real witch. I have a wand and everything.” Carefully, so as not to startle Lestrade, she extracted her wand from her pocket and levitated John’s empty teacup for a moment before sending it towards the kitchen to settle in the sink. “Moriarty's been killing people of my kind. The ones not born from magical parents.”

“Shit.” Lestrade said running a hand through his grey hair as he dropped into Hermione's empty chair. “Got anything stronger than tea, John? This is going to be a long night.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back from my mini hiatus (so small you didn’t even know it was happening). I’m trying to get my fanfic life organized and I really want to finish this story before the end of September. We shall see if I can keep it on track! Huge thanks to those of you that left feedback! I’m sorry I don’t always respond, but I appreciate what you have to say! The implied Johnlock relationship comes into play in this chapter. It’s sort of heavy, but never fret, this is still strickly a Hermione/Sherlock fic. I can say nothing about the upcoming companion story though ^.^  
> In other news (long A/N I know…sorry), the first story in this series, Nights in Diagon Alley is up for the Semi-Finals in the Enchanted Awards over on the GES Facebook group. If you wouldn’t mind taking a few minute to pop over and vote for me, I’d truly appreciate it. I’m also up for a few other stories/categories. I’ll list them below for your perusal. The voting link is there too! Thank you in advance if you happen to vote!  
> *When Worlds Collide: Best Crossover*  
> -Nights in Diagon Alley  
> -Wolves without Teeth  
> *Time Lord Award: Best Time-Travel*  
> -Partners in Time  
> *All the Feels: Best Angst*  
> -Teardrops & Teacups
> 
> Vote Here: [Enchanted Awards Semi-Finals](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B3wiwGvGfgYMRV94REhVTmp5bnM)
> 
> And last but most certainly not least, a huge thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading today!! Lots of love to you, my dear! xxDustNight

Night was waning quickly by the time Lestrade left the flat. Sherlock was standing at the window, lost in thought while Hermione observed him from the sofa. She was curled in the corner of one end and John was seated at the opposite side, his head tipped back to rest on the back with his eyes closed. They were all exhausted, the Inspector's questioning taking its toll. What she  _needed_  to do was contact Harry with the news of Dennis's death; after all, he was the lead Auror on the case. She just didn't want to interrupt the calm that had descended upon the flat, a calm that was often rare these days.

Stretching, Hermione extended her legs and accidentally kicked John's thigh. He startled, obviously having been on the verge of sleep. As he blinked back into consciousness, he turned to find Hermione staring at him with an apologetic face. "Sorry," she murmured, realizing she'd managed to do exactly what she'd hoped to avoid.

"S'fine," John mumbled before a yawn overtook his face. "I didn't mean to doze off. What do we do now?" The question was directed towards Sherlock, who didn't bother to acknowledge his friend. He remained as stoic as ever, staring at Merlin only knew what. Shrugging, John returned his attention to Hermione. "If you want, you can head to bed. I don't mind sitting up with him…I'm used to it."

With a soft smile, John reached out and patted her leg, his hand lingering just a tad longer than necessary. Hermione didn't comment on it; she simply returned the smile before glancing over at Sherlock. She was surprised to find him staring back at her with an intensity she'd not seen from him previously. Before she could ask him what was wrong, his head snapped to look at John and he broke his silence.

"Don't you need to be returning home to Mary and Rosie, John," Sherlock snapped, briskly moving from the window. Without breaking eye contact with the doctor, he stepped overtop the coffee table and made to sit in the middle of the sofa. Hermione barely had enough time to move her legs before he was seated, his hand coming to rest on her drawn up knee.

Surprised at the obvious show of possessiveness, Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing and leaned to the left so she could see John's reaction. To her surprise, John looked entirely taken aback by Sherlock's behavior. Hermione was far from Sherlock's property, she would be the very first person to tell anyone that, but she thought it had been  _quite_  obvious how the detective felt about her based on their actions earlier in the evening. Surely, John's gesture had been one wrought from lack of sleep and compassion over the situation at hand and nothing more?

"I texted Mary hours ago and told her it would be a late night," John supplied, raising his eyebrows when Sherlock still did not relax in the slightest. "She knows how we get with extreme cases."

" _Surely_ , you will be missed if you remain here much longer," Sherlock tried again, narrowing his eyes at his friend. "There's not much else we can do at this time of night. Moriarty will have returned to hiding, and until we figure out how to lure him out into the open, we must take this day by day." The corner of his mouth tipped upwards in a smirk as he added, "Or night by night."

"Are you suggesting you'd rather back off the case for the moment and do what? Go to sleep?" John crossed his arms and leaned into the corner of the couch so he could see Sherlock easier. "Have you lost it entirely, Sherlock? He's lost it, right?" John glanced briefly at Hermione before facing his friend once more.

"I don't think so," Hermione trailed off when Sherlock shot her a stern look.

Suddenly realizing what kind of mood Sherlock was in, Hermione carefully stood up from the sofa and began to collect their scattered teacups and glasses from earlier in the night. She tried to make herself invisible knowing a mini-feud was brewing between the two. Where was Harry's cloak when she needed it? Practically tiptoeing into the kitchen, she kept her ears open in case she needed to intervene. The doctor and detective had put aside their differences over the past few weeks, but there was always something still lingering underneath the surface. Hermione knew what it was, but they had to work it out on their own or it would forever interfere with their friendship.

"Come on, Sherlock," John began again. "When have you  _ever_  relaxed on a case? Normally you go for days, weeks sometimes, without sleep or even a proper meal. It would take both Mrs. Hudson and me ages to get you to have a lie-down and a piece of toast to tide you over." He was giving Sherlock a strange look, almost as if he'd never seen him before.

"This case is  _different_ , John." Sherlock snapped, rising from the sofa and striding towards the fireplace. He turned his back on the doctor, shielding himself from the look of incredulity he knew he would find. "Moriarty knows how we play the game, so we must change our course of action to catch him off guard." Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the knife holding their bills in place. He wriggled it for a second as he listened to the telltale signs that John was standing and moving towards the middle of the room.

"So you're going to  _sleep_! I feel like I'm missing something here. What are you keeping from me?" John's voice was a bit louder than normal, an edge there that hadn't been earlier in the conversation. It caused Hermione to glance up from where she was filling the sink with hot, soapy water. She met Sherlock's sea-colored eyes for a brief second before he sighed obnoxiously and whirled about to face the doctor.

"I'm not keeping anything from you, John. Not this time. We know nothing more than what we told you," he explained, shoving his hands angrily into the pockets of his suit pants. "Moriarty is killing Muggles, Muggleborns, and Halfbloods in the memory of Tom Riddle, and there's nothing we can do about it unless we lure him out into the open!" Sherlock obviously didn't realize that with every word he spoke he took a step closer to John, or that his voice was raising at the same time. "And I'm not quite certain I'm willing to do that."

"And why the bloody hell not," demanded John, his chin lifting in defiance to Sherlock's statement. "Why all of a sudden are you unwilling to do whatever it takes to catch the bad guy? This is  _Moriarty_  we're talking about! You threw yourself off a bloody building and faked your death in order to protect us all from him before. Why not take another risk if it means we can finally bring the bastard to justice!?"

"Because  _this_  time there are more lives at stake! I can't risk losing any or  _all_  of you for this man." Sherlock was standing in front of John now, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to suppress his emotions. He was failing miserably, his eyes shining as he stared down into John's face. "I can't do what you did, John. I can't imagine a life without…," he paused, swallowing audibly as he forcibly carded a hand through his dark curls.

"You can't imagine a life without  _what_ , Sherlock," John asked quietly, his voice just barely carrying to where Hermione stood frozen at the sink, the teacup in her hand long forgotten. She had a feeling she knew, but she waited for him to answer nonetheless.

"I—" He stopped, unsure of how to say aloud the feelings that were churning inside his chest like the sea during a hurricane. He'd never had this problem with John before; or if he did, he'd just locked the feelings away in his Mind Palace in some lost closet. Sherlock made to turn away, but John's arm shot out and grabbed him by the forearm, forcing him to turn back around. Sherlock stared into John's face, not seeming to notice that the shorter man never let go.

"Tell me."

Sighing heavily, Sherlock took a tentative step closer to John, watching Hermione in his peripheral vision. When he saw that she made no move to stop him, he placed a gentle hand on John's cheek and held him so he couldn't look away. There was no reason for his hesitation, but still he found himself floundering. After all this time, he was finally getting a chance to tell John how he really felt, what he would do to keep him safe, and he was failing miserably.

"I cannot imagine a world where Hermione no longer exists," he admitted, watching as John's face fell ever so slightly. When the doctor made to pull away, he moved his hand to the man's shoulder and held him steady. "I was not finished…" Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he raked his eyes over John's face, lingering at his lips for just a brief second before returning to his eyes. "I would also find myself inconsolable if I were ever to lose you as well, John."

John blinked in confusion, faltering as he took a step backwards as the full impact of Sherlock's words hit him. "What are you saying, Sherlock?" He questioned, finally stepping free of the detective's hold. He didn't know how the comprehend the look of mild hurt that flickered across Sherlock's features at that or that somehow Hermione had made herself suddenly scarce.

"I believe you know exactly what I am referring to, John. But if you need me to say the words aloud, I can understand." Sherlock cleared his throat, intent on finally admitting to John the way he'd felt for most of their time spent together as roommates, friends, companions. Stepping closer to John, who had managed to get out of his reach, he opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue, when the fireplace roared to life behind him.

Startled, John stumbled backward, tripping over the coffee table and landing in a sprawled mess. Sherlock cringed, his hands held out awkwardly as he tried to determine what to do next. Shaking his head at his antics, he turned and shouted down the hall. "Hermione! It appears someone is trying to get ahold of you." Finally, he reached out and offered a hand to John, who took it begrudgingly.

Hermione burst back into the room, her hair pulled up into a messy bun with her wand and face damp from being washed. She'd obviously been preparing for bed, having left Sherlock and John to their own devices. Sparing them a glance, she hurried to the fireplace and dropped to her knees. "Someone is trying to use the Floo Network, but I haven't set it up here yet. I didn't think I would need it." She explained tugging her wand out of her hair and tapping the hearth in a few choice places.

"Floo what?" John questioned, rubbing his back where he'd hit the edge of the sofa. He waved off Sherlock's concern, their moment from earlier clearly shattered. "I thought the flat was exploding. Again."

"Again," Hermione repeated, only half listening as she tinkered with the fireplace some more. "I probably don't want to know anything about that, do I?"

"No."

"Definitely not."

She shot them both a teasing grin over her shoulder before waving her wand once more and moving to stand. Dusting off the knees of her pajama bottoms, she sighed heavily when nothing happened. "I guess now we wait and see who was trying to contact us…" She nibbled on her lip, turning to face the two men. "Tea?"

"No," John replied, reaching for his jacket on the arm of the couch. "I think I should be getting home. I can come by tomorrow after my shift at the clinic." He met Sherlock's disappointed stare and gave him a look that was more smirk than smile. "I have a lot to think about after tonight. I'm not avoiding what you said, not really, but I need to sleep on it, okay."

Straightening himself, Sherlock tired not to appear as disenchanted as he was feeling at the disruption. He desperately wanted to know how John would have reacted had they not been interrupted by the infuriating fireplace. Nevertheless, he made himself appear unfazed as he nodded once to his oldest and dearest companion. "Of course, John. Have a good night. Give Mary and Rosie our love."

"Have a good night, then. You too, Hermione," John called out as he opened the door and exited the flat. Hermione and Sherlock waited until the front door downstairs opened and then shut again before turning to face one another.

"Are you alright," Hermione questioned, stepping toward Sherlock, concern lacing her voice. "I won't ask what happened after I left the room, but, please, at least tell me if you're okay." She made to brush the curls from his forehead but thought that perhaps he may not want to be touched right now. He seemed more fragile than usual, as if something had fractured inside of him.

"I will be fine," Sherlock answered after a quiet moment of contemplation. He pointed to the fireplace. "What did you do?" He stepped around Hermione, ignoring her frown as he examined the hearth for any physical changes. When he found none, he turned and lifted an eyebrow in query.

"I activated the Floo Network, illegally mind you, but now witches and wizards will be able to visit the flat freely." She lifted the bottom of her t-shirt and finished drying her face. "I suspect it was Harry…or Draco…trying to get a hold of me. Perhaps they heard about Dennis." She looked stricken at that thought, but shook herself get rid of the feeling.

"Would it not be easier for them to  _apparate_?"

"You have to clearly picture the location you are  _apparating_  to in order to get there without splinching. It's much safer to use Floo the first time you visit." She cringed at the thought of Harry arriving in the flat missing an arm. "Yeah, it was probably Harry. My guess is that he's trying to talk to us about the case. I haven't heard from him since I left Diagon Alley, after all."

"What shall we do while we wait for whoever it was to try again?" Sherlock took in her appearance, realizing she'd been getting ready to go to sleep, leaving him alone with John. Lifting a hand to tuck an errant curl behind his witch's ear, he relaxed when she closed her eyes and placed her own overtop his. "I suspect the mood has changed from earlier in the evening."

"It has," she admitted, opening her eyes slowly. "But that doesn't mean we can't crawl into bed together and just enjoy each other's company. Come on," she said softly, taking Sherlock's hand and beginning to lead him to the bedroom. "Let's end the night on a good note, okay?"

Sherlock merely nodded, glancing around as she used her wandless magic to turn off the lights. He was suddenly feeling more than exhausted, the night's events finally taking their toll. He barely even noticed as Hermione stripped him of his clothes and guided him into the bed. It wasn't until the room was dark and Hermione was wrapping her soft body around his, intertwining their limbs, that it occurred to ask her why she'd allowed him to reveal his true feelings for John. Before he could voice his inquiry, sleep pulled him under, Hermione following him into dreamless slumber.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Introducing a new pairing in this chapter. I hope you love it as much as I do! Thank you for all the love for the last one. I think things are finally moving along quite nicely! In addition, the first story in this series, Nights in Diagon Alley has made it to the Finals in the Enchanted Awards over on the GES Facebook group. Thank you if you voted in the Semi-Finals! If you wouldn't mind taking a few minutes to pop over and vote for me again, I'd love you even more. I'm also up for a few other stories/categories. I'll list them below. The voting link is there too! Thank you in advance if you happen to vote!
> 
> *When Worlds Collide: Best Crossover*
> 
> -Nights in Diagon Alley
> 
> -Wolves without Teeth
> 
> *All the Feels: Best Angst*
> 
> -Teardrops & Teacups
> 
> Vote Here: [Enchanted Awards Finals](https:/drive.google.com/drive/folders/0B3wiwGvGfgYMUVZKZWF4ZkZMWUE?usp=sharing)
> 
> Huge thanks to GaeilgeRua for beta reading today! Lots of love to you, my dear! xxDustNight

"No."

"You're being unreasonable, Hermione," Harry admonished, heavily setting his teacup back into its saucer and causing it to clatter. "It's not safe for you here. You need to come back to Diagon Alley."

Huffing, Hermione threw her hands into the air and stalked towards the window in similar fashion to Sherlock when he was having a tantrum. Drawing back the curtain, she looked into the dark street below. She knew Draco and Sherlock were down there somewhere, lurking in the shadows and allowing her and Harry to have this heated discussion alone.

"It's not safe anywhere, Harry," she muttered, letting the curtain fall back into place, shielding the night from her view. Harry and Draco came through the floo a few hours ago now, interrupting Sherlock and Hermione's evening routine of research and reading. She slowly turned and gave her best friend a hard stare. "What makes you think I would be safer in Diagon Alley, or anywhere in the Wizarding sector, versus here in Muggle London?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but inevitably shut it and merely shrugged. "I worry about you. I can't help it. When you're here, I can't keep an eye on you," he admitted, rubbing a hand through his hair. Leaning back in the chair he sat, which happened to be John's, he observed her for a quiet moment. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I understand just how much you've been through, and how the War affected you. I don't want to see anything bad happen to you when you finally seem to be happy."

His words meant a lot to Hermione, and she gave him a sad smile. Dropping into her own chair, she reached across the small space and took his hand in her own. "Look, Moriarty is coming for people like me no matter where I may be. He is cunning, clever, and probably at least two steps ahead of us right now. We have to be ready for him regardless of where I'm currently living."

Harry gave her hand a squeeze before releasing his grip. "I'm just going to have to trust you on this one, huh?" Standing, Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe and moved to the middle of the room. Turning slowly, he took in his surroundings before saying anything further. "You're happy here?"

"Yes," Hermione answered quietly, watching her friend carefully. He stopped and looked to her, his chest puffing up before he exhaled in a sigh. She knew he was conflicted, wanting her to be comfortable and happy, but also afraid to lose her entirely. Hell, she was still working out her situation. Never would she have thought it would be so easy to walk away from the Wizarding world, but she'd done just that.

"That's all that matters then, I suppose," Harry conceded, finally gracing her with a grin.

Saying nothing further on that matter, Hermione wrapped her arms around her middle and frowned. "Have you talked to the Creevy family yet?" She hated to bring it up, but it's why he and Draco were here, after all. They came to figure out what happened to Dennis, and possibly find any clues that Scotland Yard may have missed.

"I did," he replied, his face etched with remorse. "It was hard enough talking to the Creevy's back after the war, let alone a second time now. This Moriarty truly needs to be stopped. Our people have had enough pain and suffering this lifetime."

"We'll find him, Harry."

Footsteps were heard on the stairs, and shortly thereafter, Sherlock walked into the room followed by a grumpy looking Draco. "Molly is on her way," the detective informed them before swooping forward to peck Hermione on the cheek. He then took his seat, still bundled up in his trademark coat. He either didn't notice, or chose to ignore, the glare Draco was shooting his way from where he still lingered by the door.

"You said that she would be able to tell us more about what killed Creevy, right?" Draco piped up, crossing his arms and leaning in the doorway. One pale eyebrow was quirked as if he didn't believe Sherlock's friends would be able to help in the slightest.

"I trust Molly's expertise in this area, explicitly. In fact, I would trust her with my life," Sherlock informed Draco, eyes narrowing in distaste.

"Well, that's good to know," a cheerful voice piped up from behind Draco, causing him to startle and whirl around. Luckily, he didn't raise his wand. The smiling face of Molly Hooper was revealed as she stepped around the flustered wizard so she could enter the room. "Hi, everyone!" She said with a wave. "I hope I'm not too late. The autopsy took a bit longer than I imagined."

"You're fine, Molly," Sherlock replied, standing again to go make tea. Hermione gave him a strange look since it was usually her that made tea for guests. "What do you have for us?"

"Oh? Who are you two? I don't believe we've met. I'm Molly Hooper," the woman introduced herself to the two wizards, ignoring Sherlock's question. She shook each of their hands in turn. "Sherlock told me you have, um,  _special_  powers just like Hermione."

"By the time we solve this case, all of London is going to know about witches and wizards," Draco grumbled as he watched Harry shake her hand and introduce himself. "I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy," he told her, taking her small hand in his when it was his turn. As she smiled up at him, he felt his heart speed up. She was far prettier than he'd originally noticed, and she didn't seem to mind his bad attitude.

"Oh, so  _you're_  Draco! Sherlock mentioned you used to date Hermione." She turned and sent a dramatic wink towards Hermione, who she had met a few weeks prior when Sherlock was working another case.

"Come now, Molly," Hermione spoke as she stood to help Sherlock carry the tea into the room. "Draco doesn't like to be teased. Have some tea and tell Sherlock about that file in your jacket before he has to steal it from you." She laughed at the flabbergasted look on Draco's pointed face.

Molly laughed too, but for an entirely different reason. "You really have been spending a lot of time around Sherlock. I thought I had this thing pretty well hidden." From inside her coat she extracted the folder which was promptly plucked from her hand by Sherlock's nimble fingers. Taking a seat on the sofa, she accepted a cup of tea from Hermione.

"He sort of rubs off on you," Hermione admitted, joining the pathologist on the sofa. She gave her lover a fond smile when he briefly glanced her way before returning his attention to the file he was reading.

"He does," Molly said with a shrug before sipping her tea. "So, what do you think, Sherlock? I didn't find anything out of the ordinary in the victim's blood, but his pupils were dilated and his skin was an odd sort of grey that isn't typical of the deceased."

"Potion?" Harry wondered aloud, peering over Sherlock's shoulder to get a better look at the file. "We know Moriarty is incapable of performing magic, so it couldn't be a killing curse."

"There's something odd about this, that is certain," Sherlock mumbled, closing the file and handing it to Harry. He then ran both hands up over his face and through his hair. "I am going to need you to check again, Molly. Check his heart and liver, and possibly his tongue." He hurried toward his friend and grabbed hold of her arm, gently.

"Um, sure. Alright," Molly managed to say as she was lifted to her feet. "If it's that urgent, I guess I can go back and take another look tonight. Thanks for the tea, Hermione."

"You're welcome," Hermione replied with a frown as she took the hardly touched tea back from Molly before it could spill. She gave Sherlock a stern look as he all but herded Molly to the door. "Sherlock, you don't have to push."

"This is important, and you and I need to check into something, as well, before the night is through." He grabbed Hermione's coat from where it was hanging and threw it to her. "Potter, you should return to the Wizarding sector. I believe you will be more use to us there at the moment."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Don't you think I should go with Molly. She may need a wizard's expertise on this case." She hated to volunteer, especially since she had no desire to see her former schoolmate lying dead on a cold, hard slab. She bit her lip as Sherlock regarded her pensively, obviously deducing her current state of well-being. She knew the moment he realized she was completely unstable for such a task, but before he could voice his concern, someone else chimed in.

"I can go with her."

Every face in the room turned to stare at Draco, who had been the one to volunteer. Obviously uncomfortable by the sudden attention, he coughed and scratched at the back of his head. "It makes the most sense, I mean. Potter you're the lead on this case and Hermione really shouldn't… She has to help Sherlock," he ended a bit lamely, glowering as he glanced away from their stares.

Hermione clapped once, determined to break the awkward silence. "That settles it then. Harry, back to the Ministry for you while Sherlock and I chase whatever lead he's discovered. Molly, you take Draco with you back to Bart's and see if we can't discover any magical properties lingering from Moriarty. Sound good?"

"That works for me," Molly said with a shrug. "Come on, Draco. We can get a cab back to the hospital. See you sometime tomorrow?"

"Of course," Hermione told her, shrugging into her jacket. With a final nod, the pathologist and Draco disappeared down the stairs. She then turned to Harry with raised eyebrows. "Never saw that coming."

"What?" Her friend asked, oblivious to what she'd picked up on. He was headed to the fireplace, pulling a satchel of floo powder from the inside of his robes. "What's happening?"

"Molly and Draco. He was totally into her." She was grinning as Harry's mouth practically dropped open in shock.

"They just met."

"So? I knew there was something special about Sherlock the night I met him." Sherlock rolled his eyes at her as he shoved a few trinkets and his mobile into the pocket of his coat.

"I'll wait and see what happens, if you don't mind." Harry stepped into the fireplace and threw down a handful of floo powder. "See you later. The Ministry!"

"They'll be engaged in three months," Sherlock told her, looping his arm through hers and leading her to the door.

She let him lead her downstairs and into the night, not caring that she had no idea where they were off to. "What about us?" She inquired playfully, giggling when he shot her a look of admonishment.

"When the time is right, you will force me to marry you," he mumbled, pausing to hail a cab at the curb. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he turned to her. "And I will fight you over the color of the bridesmaids dresses-midnight blue, by the way-but you'll allow me to choose the honeymoon in the end."

"Oh really?" She whispered as Sherlock tugged her close. She smiled warmly up at him, her heart fluttering in her chest despite the tragedy and worry that lingered at the back of her mind.

"Yes," he said smugly before capturing her lips in a searing kiss just as the cab pulled up to the curb. Pulling back slightly so he could look into her chocolate eyes, he continued as if never stopping, "Now, let us go and pick up John. We're going to need his expertise for the next part of this case."

She nodded, heart full, before allowing him to open the door to the cab and help her inside. She briefly thought of Draco and the possibility that he may find happiness with Molly, and vice versa. Despite the chaos of the case, somehow the two had managed to find each other, just like Sherlock had found her. Sometimes, even in the darkest of nights, one just had to find their light.* Sherlock was her light, and tonight, he was shining just for her. As he settled next to her in the back seat of the cab, taking her hand in his, she tried to remind herself that as long as he was by her side, the nights wouldn't be so dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *play off of Dumbledore's quote, "Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! So not only are you getting an update for this story, it also happens to be the one year anniversary of Nights in Diagon Alley! I can't believe it's been a year since I've started this series. I'm so happy to have all of you lovely readers coming along for this ride. I'd also like to remind you that, Nights in Diagon Alley has made it to the Finals in the Enchanted Awards over on the GES Facebook group. Thank you if you voted in the Semi-Finals! If you wouldn't mind taking a few minute to pop over and vote for me again, I'd love you even more. I'm also up for a few other stories/categories. I'll list them below. The voting link is there too! Thank you in advance if you happen to vote!
> 
> *When Worlds Collide: Best Crossover*
> 
> -Nights in Diagon Alley
> 
> -Wolves without Teeth
> 
> *All the Feels: Best Angst*
> 
> -Teardrops & Teacups
> 
> Vote Here: [Enchanted Awards Finals](https:/drive.google.com/drive/folders/0B3wiwGvGfgYMUVZKZWF4ZkZMWUE?usp=sharing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to GaeilgeRua for beta reading today! Lots of love to you, my dear! xxDustNight

"When was the last time you slept?"

Sherlock merely glared at Hermione, his eyes lifting from his laptop screen for the briefest of moments before returning to whatever he'd been furiously typing. When he didn't respond to her question, Hermione heaved a sigh and forcefully shut the lid of said laptop. It earned her a strangled sort of sound from the detective, who promptly tried to reopen the device.

"You haven't slept in days, Sherlock. It's not healthy," Hermione scolded, picking up the laptop and cradling it to her chest before backing away from her lover. "You need a break."

"I'm perfectly fine. I've trained my mind and body to go long periods of time without certain luxuries." Sherlock was frowning at her, arms crossed and eyebrow raised as if that was going to make her give back his research materials.

"Sleeping and eating are not luxuries-they're necessities!" Completely aghast at Sherlock's lack of self-care, she stormed from the room. Unsurprisingly, he followed along right behind her, practically stomping as he did so. Whirling around, she pointed a finger at his face. "You stop that right now. It's late and Mrs. Hudson is probably fast asleep!"

"We have a case to solve, Hermione! I do not have time for simple things like eight hours of uninterrupted sleep or a proper meal!" Raising his voice, Sherlock tried desperately to grab for the computer, but Hermione backed away. "Now, give me back my laptop so I can finish the email I was sending to the Prime Minister."

"What!?" Yelling herself now, Hermione did the only thing she could think of: She opened the top drawer of Sherlock's dresser and placed the laptop inside before sealing it with a locking charm. "That's it! I'm forcing you to take a break this instant! You can't just work yourself until you're on your last leg."

"It's never harmed me before," he practically whined, ducking around Hermione to frantically try and open the drawer. "Open this at once."

"No," she firmly stated, placing both hands on her hips and leveling him with her hardest glare. It was the one she used to use on Harry and Ron when they refused to do their revisions back at Hogwarts. "You're going to have some soup and then sleep. Until at  _least_  seven."

When he opened his mouth to protest, she raised an eyebrow, daring him to argue further. Inhaling, he puffed out his chest before exhaling in a huff. "We're so close to finding Moriarty, can you not feel it? I have warned you previously about my peculiarities. Call John. He will confirm them. "

"Sherlock," Hermione sighed, shoulders sagging as she closed her eyes. "It's different now. I do not need to call John… I don't want you to wear yourself down to the point where you do or miss something because of carelessness."

"I will not."

"Don't." Her voice was firm, laced with a sadness that nearly made Sherlock falter. "Please don't make me do something I regret. You need your sleep…  _I_  need you to sleep. Do it for me..."

Blinking, Sherlock tried to calm the flash of anger that threatened to overtake him. He did not want to fight with Hermione, nor did he want to unintentionally make a mistake when it came to Moriarty. She had a point, but he did not want to give in. Not now, not when he was so close to the end he could taste it. Watching as she opened her eyes, he met her stare. Knowing he would not win this battle, he stepped forward and carded his fingers through her curls.

"I shall doze until five, and then have breakfast. That is my compromise." Staring down in her eyes, he was fairly certain she was going to fight back still, force him to rest longer, but she gave him a simple smile. Forehead creasing in confusion, he suddenly realized he'd been played. "You knew all along I would never agree to your original terms. You tricked me."

"Indeed, I did," she replied with a quiet laugh, moving to turn down the covers on their bed. "Come now, you agreed to sleep."

"You have been spending far too much time with John…" Irritated with himself for falling for such a simple trick, Sherlock removed his shirt and stripped down to his boxers before sliding into the bed. He rolled onto his side, his back facing Hermione in defiance. He would never admit to how good the bed felt or how tired he suddenly realized he was.

"Don't pout, Sherlock," Hermione teased, crawling in behind him and wrapping an arm around his waist. She kissed the back of his shoulder, lingering a bit longer than she ought to. He hummed in approval, but she knew he was far too tired to do anything more than sleep. Hell, she was too, but it felt good to be wanted. "You can fight with me in the morning about what we'll eat for breakfast, alright?"

"Yes. Fine."

He was already fading, and Hermione smiled as she willed the lights into darkness. Moriarty needed to be caught, but Sherlock would be useless against such a villain if he was exhausted to the point of recklessness. As sleep took them both, Hermione's last thought was of what it might be like to enjoy nights in 221B after the danger was destroyed.

. . . . . . . . .

Feeling as if she'd just rolled over, Hermione was jostled awake by someone's hand on her shoulder. She knew it wasn't Sherlock because she could feel his warmth snuggled up against her back, his head nestled in the crook of her neck. Blinking, she tried to see in the darkness, not wanting to turn on the lights and wake her lover.

"John?" She questioned as his shape took form in the minimal street-light coming through the window. "What time is it?" Carefully, she extracted herself from Sherlock's grasp as she sat up and rubbed the remaining sleep from her tired eyes.

"Just after four," he replied almost apologetically. He took her hand to help her from the bed and then led her from the room, shutting the door behind them. "Come on. I know it probably took you ages to convince Sherlock to sleep. We can talk in the front room."

"What's happened? Why are you here so early?" She moved to sit in her chair, using her wand to light a fire in the fireplace. "We weren't expecting you until later this afternoon."

"Lestrade was trying to get in touch, and when he couldn't, asked me to come by again. I was surprised to find the flat dark and you two sleeping." As he explained, John rubbed at the back of his neck as if uncomfortable. When he looked at Hermione, he shrugged. "I figured you'd still be awake, or at least Sherlock would be."

"He was going to crash if I didn't trick him into at least half a night's sleep."

Silence fell again, and Hermione found herself watching the fire burn and flicker in the hearth. John was overly careful around her lately, a repercussion of the discussion he and Sherlock had she supposed. It certainly made things a bit awkward, but she didn't mind. John knew Sherlock first, so she would just have to bear with the uncomfortableness. Sighing heavily, she ran a hand through her sleep tousled hair and decided to break the silence.

"What did Lestrade want?"

"He simply wondered if Sherlock figured out any leads. Everyone seems to be stumped with this case." Meeting her gaze, John looked as if he wanted to say more but stopped himself. "Anyway," he did say after a while, "You'll learn that Lestrade relies pretty heavily on Sherlock for cases such as this. Sherlock enjoys the work so he doesn't typically mind, but it can be detrimental to his health and mental state."

"That's where you came in, right?" Hermione gave him a smile, curling her legs underneath her on the chair. "He told me bits and pieces of your relationship over the years, and I've read your blog, but I'm not sure I know the entire situation."

"In essence, Sherlock saved my life…" John cleared his throat and glanced away, his eyes shining. Hermione didn't say anything, not wanting to spoil the moment. When he was ready, John carried on. "I think I saved his as well, but he's a private type. Doesn't open up much. Actually...I was rather surprised by what he revealed to me two weeks ago."

"I think he was just as surprised as you were by his revelation," Hermione murmured, tipping her head thoughtfully. "To be honest, he's not particularly vocal about his affections. I've told him I loved him, but he's only ever responsed that he adores me or feels exceptionally close to me."

"He hasn't told you he loves you?"

"Not in those words, no," she admitted, frowning. "He's showed me in other ways, though." Feeling her cheeks warm, looked to the fire.

"He loves you."

Sighing, Hermione nodded and then looked back to John. "I know he does, but I worry, you know? The last relationship I had ended so horribly. It would be nice to have something solid to verify his true feelings for me."

"Maybe once this case is solved and all our lives return to normal, he'll be able to tell you how he really feels. The case could be mentally blocking him from what he really wants right now, which is you…"

"I think there are other things that he needs, too, before he can fully give his heart to me." Meeting John's eyes, she gave him a pointed look. She wondered if he realized just how much Sherlock loved him, and to what extent. Sure, Sherlock was probably experiencing some sort of emotional block in regards to their relationship, but there was something else there too.

John.

He was the one that got away. The one that was still there, day after day, reminding Sherlock of what he could have had. Hermione knew he cared for her, possibly loved her even, but with John still right there, just out of his grasp, he was technically still holding out hope for something he possibly couldn't even have. Whatever the outcome of this case, Hermione knew that there needed to be some sort of closure between Sherlock and John before he would be able to commit himself fully to her emotionally.

And oddly enough, she was okay with that.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the immensely stressful case, but Hermione felt rather relaxed about the Sherlock and John situation. Watching John as he sat across from her, she tried to deduce him like Sherlock would. The flickering of the firelight played across his features, making him appear much older than he probably was. Hermione knew he had Mary and a daughter at home, but why was he still here? He'd delivered his news, but he remained in 221B. Maybe that meant not everything was going well between he and Mary. Or maybe, after all this time, he felt more for Sherlock after all.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

There were far too many maybe's running through her mind. With a start, she realized that John was staring at her too, watching her observe him in the early morning hours. Her skin prickled as his eyes raked over her body and she remembered the way his hand felt on her leg when he'd touched her not so long ago. Was he attracted to her because she was with Sherlock, or just because he found her enticing? Hermione let out a shuddering breath, her body warming as she imagined what it might be like to be with not just Sherlock, but John as well.

"John…" She started to say, and he rose from his chair to kneel on the floor at her feet. They stared at each other for only Merlin knew how long, neither quite knowing what to do next.

Eventually, John lifted a tentative hand and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear before cupping her cheek. To anyone else, the move would appear innocent, just a friend fixing her hair, but Hermione knew it was more than that. That was why she jerked backward when she realized Sherlock was standing in the darkness of the kitchen, watching them intently.

"Sherlock," she gasped as John stumbled to his feet, having realized where she was looking. "You're awake." She stood too, lingering by her chair as John moved away, his eyes never leaving Sherlock as if afraid he would get angry that he'd touched her.

"We need to go to Hogsmeade," Sherlock stated, stepping into the front room fully dressed. "Immediately."

"Hogsmeade," she questioned, canting her head in confusion. "The wizarding village?"

"Yes," Sherlock told her, turning his back on the both of them to glare into the fireplace. "John you will accompany us as well." He said nothing further, instead grabbing his mobile from the mantel and flipping through the countless missed calls and messages from John and Lestrade.

"Uh, well...I suppose that would be all right," John mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I think there are a few of my belongings still in the upstairs bedroom I can pack."

Sherlock merely nodded his reply, turning to face Hermione. He addressed her, his voice clipped and his eyes dark. "I've packed a small bag for you and left it on the bed. We will only need to spend the one night. By the time you dress, the cabbie will be here to take us to the train station."

"Okay," she replied, a bit taken aback when he stormed past her to don his jacket and scarf. John shrugged his shoulders when she looked to him before he disappeared upstairs. With a sigh, Hermione resigned herself to the fact that Sherlock obviously read more into what he'd seen happen between her and John just moments ago. As she entered their room, she quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a warm jumper before grabbing the overnight bag sitting in the middle of the bed. She'd have to rectify the situation when they were alone, which probably wouldn't be until they arrived in Hogsmeade.

After being away from the wizarding community for so long, it would be strange immersing herself into that world again. That wasn't even taking into account the fact that she would have not one, but two Muggles with her. They'd be there such a short period of time to chase whatever lead Sherlock suddenly found couldn't wait until morning that it would wouldn't make much of a difference. She probably should worry a bit more about how the witches and wizards would react to their presence than the way John and Sherlock would react. She figured it would be fine though...

They would be able to survive one night in Hogsmeade...right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally, I don't do end notes, but I wanted to let you know that this is the end of part one of Nights in 221B. There will be a companion one-shot entitle One Night in Hogsmeade coming soon that will fall between parts one and two. Part two will be added to this and continue after their return from Hogsmeade. The pairing for the companion piece is Hermione/John/Sherlock. Not sure how long it will take me to get it done, but be on the lookout for it in the upcoming weeks! Much love, xxDustNight


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes! So I know it's been ages, but I am back! Well, for now. This update comes with news of the good and not so good variety. The good news, I've updated! The not so good news, I probably won't update this again until December after NaNoWriMo comes to a close. I've decided to work exclusively on Empire, my Loki/Hermione crossover for NaNo so everything else will be on hiatus on December. This included. However, if you haven't yet done so, you can pop over and read the one-shot, One Night in Hogsmeade that takes place between this chapter and the previous one.
> 
> While I do allude to some things from that one-shot, it does not affect the plot of this story overall. It's meant as a completely separate tale. This story will always be Hermione/Sherlock despite the implied Johnlock warning. Anyways, thanks again as always for the lovely feedback and support for this story. It never ceases to amaze me how much you love this tory. Until next time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading! Thanks for taking the time out of your Sunday to beta read for me! Any additional mistakes you may find are my own. Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

The return to 221B Baker Street was much different than Hermione imagined it would be. The train ride from Hogsmeade had been well enough, given the circumstances of the situation. Sherlock and John were none the wiser to her trepidations, both lost in their own memories of their night spent in the little Wizarding town. As their cab pulled up to the front door she'd grown accustomed to, Hermione had to remember that they still had a case to solve and it wouldn't do well to dwell on the past.

Easier said than done, she almost muttered aloud as Sherlock opened the door and exited. He held his hand out for her and she accepted it, sliding from the vehicle with ease. John exited the other side, heading to the boot to gather their bags. Sherlock held tight to her hand as he paid the cabbie and then led the way back inside. It felt like it had been more than forty-eight hours since last they'd seen the simple flat. As if sensing her uneasiness, Sherlock didn't let go of her hand until they'd climbed the stairs and were standing in the middle of the front room.

"I need some time to gather my thoughts on the case before you force me to retire for the night," he told her as he moved to sit in his usual chair by the fireplace. He gave her one more fleeting look before settling in for what appeared to be a long night.

"Okay…" Swallowing, she tried to understand his sudden change in mood. Distantly, she heard John moving around in the back of the flat, probably putting their bag in the bedroom. When all was silent, she decided that they probably needed to discuss what happened before their trip since what happened in Hogsmeade probably overshadowed anything she'd said before. "Are we going to talk about what happened the other night?" She asked, sighing as she took a seat in the chair across from Sherlock.

"I need to concentrate right now. We can discuss your infatuation with John later." Sherlock muttered, never opening his eyes. He was preparing to go deep into his mind palace, and clearly she wasn't welcome.

"Are you jealous, Sherlock? Is that what's bothering you?" She swallowed, hating having this conversation. "Because you have no reason to be, okay? I love you, and only you. It's why I've left everything I know behind. I want to be with you without having to worry about-" She stopped as he held up a hand, eyes still close.

"While I normally appreciate your attempts at confirming your adoration for me, now is not the time for such trivial sentiments," Sherlock all but snapped, his eyes flickering open to focus on her. "Solving this case is of the utmost importance right now. For some reason I have blind spots in my memory from last night and it is hindering my ability to evaluate the data I collected in Hogsmeade. Now, if you will please busy yourself elsewhere, I need to visualize what information I have in order to calculate our next move."

As he shut his eyes once more, Hermione's mouth popped open in shock. Sherlock had never talked to her like that before. Her heart ached knowing she'd upset him. How many times had he warned her of his true nature when it came to solving cases? Too many. She knew he was simply frustrated by his inability to figure this one out, but it didn't make his remarks sting any less. Gathering what was left of her feelings, Hermione stood and made her way toward the back bedroom.

At some point, John had deposited their bags on the bed along with a note that said he'd call them later. She sighed again, remembering he had Mary and Rosie to get home to. Mary would be wondering where he'd disappeared to, even though she was sure he'd sent her text at some point before they reached Hogsmeade. Setting the note on the nightstand, Hermione began unpacking their bags and putting dirty clothes in the hamper.

It all felt so normal, but at the same time, something felt off. It was like the innocence between she and Sherlock was gone now, broken by an unsolved case. Was this what the rest of her life would be like living with him? Would he always throw her aside at the first sign of an interesting case? She loved him, far more than she ever loved Draco, but this was something she had to consider. Having left behind the life of being an officer for the Magical Law Enforcement department, she wasn't sure she was prepared to dive back into this sort of lifestyle.

Knowing Sherlock, there was no way he was going to give up his life and line of work. If what Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had to say, it's what kept him off the heroin; the thrill of the chase proving to be a better fix than the high his drug of choice provided. She doubted that she would be enough to hold his attention like that of a perplexing case. After all, it was because he was chasing a criminal that he'd stumbled upon her at all. Without the work, he was nothing and who was she to try and steer him away from all that?

Having put away all their clothes and toiletries, Hermione settled herself on the edge of the bed and tried to think about what they could do next. Out in the front room, Sherlock was doing the same, but she had to help. This was just as much her case as his, Moriarty avenging the most dastardly wizard to have terrorized them all in decades. Despite not having a lick of magic himself, Moriarty somehow still managed to find those with magical abilities.

Frowning, Hermione plopped backwards and staried at the ceiling.  _How_  was he able to do that? Did he have a list? Had he managed to get his hands on a book about them somehow? For all she knew, Riddle had given him a predetermined 'hit list' before his demise. If that was the case, who all else was at risk? Harry, probably? Ron, maybe… Herself? This was steadily growing darker with every minute longer it took to find him.

Dennis Creevey was the most recent kill, and he'd been found right here in Muggle London. In fact, all the deaths were found in London or the surrounding areas. None were in the Wizarding sectors which led Hermione to believe that despite Sherlock's apparent ability to infiltrate her world, Moriarty could not. Sure, he'd obviously used that cave in Hogsmeade as a hideout, but there was no proof he'd been able to walk through the little town. No one knew who he was by sight, nor could they remember seeing anyone. It was all hearsay at this point.

Clearly, Moriarty was operating out of London which meant his main hideout was in the area. As an idea sparked in her mind, Hermione rolled aver and opened the drawer of the bedside table. Rifling around, she found a pen and a map of London that she saw Sherlock place there a few weeks ago. Uncapping the pen, she began drawing an X on all the locations of the murders. When she was finished, Hermione tried to figure out some sort of pattern. She drew a circle around the furthest locations and added lines connecting all the inner ones.

Nothing seemed to stick out in regards to a pattern, but it was helpful to finally see where everything was happening. Maybe Moriarty was doing this at random, after all. She would have to discuss this with Sherlock when he came out his mind palace, and wasn't so snippy with her. Feeling disappointment replace her hopefulness, Hermione set aside the map and pen and laid facedown on the mattress, feeling much more tired than she ought to at a time like this. Getting the idea that some tea might be helpful, she rolled over and made to get up from the bed.

As she did so, she could hear the phone ring downstairs in Mrs. Hudson's flat. Checking the clock, Hermione frowned. Who would be calling so late at night? It was well after midnight at this point, and Mrs. Hudson normally went to bed hours ago despite her normally boisterous tennant above. Standing, Hermione determined it was probably none of her business and quietly made her way to the kitchen. Her mind was still on the case, the map and murder victim locations making her worry about who would be next.

She'd just taken the kettle to the sink to fill when the phone began to ring downstairs again. She paused, frowning as she realized Mrs. Hudson hadn't answered the first call. This time, it seemed, she did seeing as the ringing stopped before it could go on and on. Sighing, Hermione continued to fill the kettle and then place it on the stove to boil. Stepping away, she peered into the front room to see how Sherlock was faring.

He was still in his mind palace, his eyelids flickering as he delved through his endless information in an attempt to figure out this case. As footsteps sounded on the staircase leading up to their flat, his face clouded, body tensing as he was disturbed from his thought process. Panic suddenly flared inside of Hermione and she grabbed hold of one of the knives on the counter. Securely holding the knife in hand, she stepped into the front room just as Sherlock's eyes flashed open. She met his stare, throat constricting with fear.

"Something's wrong," Sherlock intoned, lightly standing from his chair as if he hadn't been settled there for the better part of an hour. Moving to stand between Hermione and the door, he waited with bated breath as the person on the other side took hold of the handle and opened it. Mrs. Hudson was revealed, her face pale and hands shaking as she secured her dressing robe. "Who was on the phone?"

Mrs. Hudson glanced between Hermione and Sherlock before answering, her voice trembling with fear of her own. "That was John… He tried ringing both of you but you didn't answer. He said-"

"What's happened?" Hermione broke in, unable to keep quiet a moment longer. The suspense was killing her after having spent the past half hour trying to figure out Moriarty's next step.

"It's Mary. She's disappeared."

The knife fell from Hermione's hand with a clatter as her eyes slid shut. Her heart sank and bile rose in her throat. Moriarty had made his next move it seemed, and this time it was personal. Opening her eyes, she saw Sherlock give her a fleeting look before grabbing for his coat. She bent over and picked up the knife, not knowing what else to do. She was in shock, never having thought Mary would be a target.

"What else did he say?" Sherlock questioned, knotting his scarf around his throat and then grabbing for Hermione's coat. He walked it over to her and helped her shrug into it, removing the knife from her grasp as he did so.

"There was blood… In the bedroom. Rosie was asleep in her crib." Mrs. Hudson's voice was quiet but steady as she relayed the information.

"We must be off. Time is of the essence." Sherlock said nothing else, handing the knife over to Mrs. Hudson. Pausing in the doorway, he turned and looked to Hermione. "This is what we've been waiting for, a new lead in the case. Come, Hermione; there's no time to waste on trivial things like emotions. Push through. We must find John's wife before it's too late."

Fighting back her tears, Hermione nodded, knowing he was right. She hurried to his side, thankful when he took her hand and squeezed reassuringly despite not knowing what the rest of the night entailed. He made her no empty promises that everything was going to be alright, instead choosing to be there for moral support in this dark time. She was thankful for that, especially as he led her downstairs and into the night. John needed their help, and they would do their very best to find Mary and bring her home alive.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally encounter a certain...villain...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I had no intention of updating any of my other stories until after NaNoWriMo, but today I got angry and when I'm angry, I write. Turns out this chapter needed to be written and angry xxDustNight was perfect for it. So enjoy my loves because I am again not sure I will update until after NaNo has ended. As always, thank you for the feedback!
> 
> Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading! I am forever grateful of your friendship and willingness to read my insanity! Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

Wearily, Hermione stumbled back into the flat nearly forty-eight hours later. Sherlock was used to going this long without sleep, sometimes longer, but she was not. Feeling sleep calling to her, she decided she'd best make it to the bedroom rather than the front room in case Sherlock decided to make use of it for further deductions. After hanging her coat by the door, Hermione made her way toward the bedroom, bypassing the bathroom entirely. She was just too worn down to even attempt a shower right now.

Kicking off her shoes and discarding her jumper, Hermione plopped onto the bed in her jeans, camisole, and socks. She rolled onto her back and grabbed for the throw blanket to cover herself with while she rested. Sherlock had sent her back here alone after she'd nearly fallen asleep standing up while waiting for a cab. He was still out there, combing the city for any clue as to where Mary was being held captive. Forty-eight hours and still no sign of where she was… Things were looking grim.

Sighing, Hermione used her magic to turn out the lights, but made sure her mobile was by her head in case Sherlock or someone else texted or called. She just needed maybe five or six good hours of rest and she'd be set to jump back on the case. It didn't help that she and Sherlock were still in a funk. Honestly, she felt rather bad about that, but Hogsmeade needed to be forgotten. At least until Moriarty was caught and put behind bars for good.

Still, she hated that the two of them were not speaking as openly as they were used to. It made her antsy, and that certainly didn't bode well for the case. Sherlock had probably been able to tell how she was feeling, another reason she'd been sent home to rest, most likely. She was no help to Mary in this state, Hermione knew, so she let her eyes slide closed and sleep finally take her. Maybe when she woke up there would be a new lead…

. . . .

Something had caused Hermione to wake up, and judging by the groggy feeling in her head, she hadn't been asleep for long. Moving sluggishly, she opened her eyes to find the room still dark. When she made to roll over and turn on the light, Hermione panicked. Someone was kneeling on the bed, holding her legs and arms down with ease. Opening her mouth to scream, a hand was slapped over her lips, squeezing until it made it difficult to breathe.

"Hush now, Ms. Granger. There's no need to call anyone's attention to my presence… _yet_ ," a silky voice whispered into her ear. Hermione's blood ran cold at the realization of who this man was.

_Moriarty._

She tried to scream, to throw him off, but it was no use. He had his full weight pressing her down into the mattress and her wand was in her coat. Stupid. Stupid.  _Stupid_. Her eyes were wide and full of fear as she tried to see him, but the room was simply too dark. Obviously knowing how frightened she was, he chuckled, the sound low and sinister. She trembled, her heart beating erratically in her chest.

"Relax,  _love_. I am just here to talk. I have no plans to harm you  _this_ night," Moriarty told her, his eyes boring down into hers. "If I release your mouth, you must promise not to use any of those tricky little spells of yours or I will be forced to shoot you dead." At that he nudged her inner thigh with his outer one and she felt the gun through the thin fabric of his trousers. "What do you say?"

Trying to swallow down her panic, Hermione nodded knowing she really had no other choice. When he pulled his hand away, she breathed deeply, finally able to take a full breath. When she was able to speak again, she hissed, "What do you want? Where's Mary?"

Chuckling, Moriarty took hold of her wrists and secured them above her head. "Mary? Oh she's  _useless_. I just took her for a bit of fun. However, when I no longer need her, I'll either give her back...or...not."

"You can't keep killing innocent people. What do you even want? What's the point!?" Hermione's voice was raising, a fact that she knew would only get her in trouble right now. Unfortunately, she had no other means of protecting herself.

"I suggest you lower your voice or I might lose my own temper."

That made her stop talking for a moment and process. It was one thing to be up against a wizard unarmed, but being up against someone such as Moriarty, Hermione was scared. Swallowing, she quietly said, "You're not going to get away with this. We're going to get you in the end."

"I do like to think I'll be a bit more difficult to destroy than Tom Riddle turned out to be," Moriarty replied, his teeth glinting in the darkness.

"I doubt that. We had to destroy horcruxes to bring him to his end. But you, you're  _human_. You're regular and boring and we can-"

"SHUT UP!" Moriarty screamed in her face, once again covering her mouth with his hand. He was much stronger than he looked, and he proved that now as he smothered her with his mere fingers.

Whimpering, Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes and, suddenly, her fight with Sherlock didn't seem so important. She was going to die and he was going to find her… Oh… this would surely break him. She wouldn't plead for her life, no. She most certainly wouldn't do that. But before the life could be sucked from her body, Moriarty released his hold on her face and quickly withdrew from the bed.

Gasping and choking for air, Hermione curled onto her side. Her vision was fuzzy and she was sobbing uncontrollably. Moriarty took no mercy, his hand twisting into her curls and pulling her face close to his once more. She cried out in pain, feeling a few strands as they were torn from her scalp. She held back her pleas for him to spare her, choosing instead to stare daggers into his violent eyes.

"I suggest you shut that pretty little mouth of yours, Ms. Granger," he said much more calmly, but she could hear the thinly veiled malice dripping from his every word. "If not, I will be forced to do something about it. And as for you stopping me? Not likely. I will bring  _you_  down. You and  _all_  the foul creatures just like you. Just you wait. The whole world will see exactly how repulsive you truly are."

And then he threw her backward, her body tumbling over the edge of the bed. She hit floor hard, the breath nearly knocked out of her as she landed. By the time she'd righted herself, Moriarty was gone, leaving no indication that he'd been there besides the tears running down her cheeks and the bruises around her mouth. Crouching on the floor, Hermione grabbed for her mobile on the bed, quickly swiping the screen to life and dialing Sherlock's number.

He answered on the first ring and her heart soared with relief. "What's happened?" he asked without preamble, his tone indicating he knew she would not be calling him unless it was important.

"Moriarty- He…" She didn't really get a chance to finish before a fresh wave of terrified tears began to cascade from her eyes. She was sitting on the floor now, one hand holding the phone to her ear while the other held her face in its palm.

"Hermione- Love, calm down. I am on my way.  _Don't_  move."

He hung up then, leaving her in silence. Hermione nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her and then discarded the mobile in her lap. Inching backward, she pressed her back against the wall and wrapped her arms around her legs. Trying to stem the flow of tears, Hermione hated herself in this moment. This wasn't who she was. She was supposed to be a fighter… A heroine…

Only, when Moriarty was poised over her on the bed, the entire situation had taken her back to many years ago when Bellatrix had been the one threatening her. Biting back another whimper, Hermione settled her face on her knees and waited for Sherlock to come back home…

. . . .

At first, Sherlock had no idea where she was when he entered the flat. But it didn't take him long, his ears singling out the sounds of her sniffling and leading him to where she was huddling in the bedroom. He dropped to his knees, eyes roaming over her body and looking for any harm that had been done. When he went to take hold of her chin, she flinched away in pain and rage nearly burned him alive when he saw the bruises marring her mouth.

" _What did he do to you_ ," Sherlock hissed, his voice so low and full of fury that it sent shivers down Hermione's spine. When it was obvious Hermione could not respond, Sherlock merely sat down on the floor and allowed her to curl into his chest. She was shivering so he wrapped the open flaps of his long coat around her and held her steady.

In all honesty, he didn't truly need her to explain what happened. It was plain that while she'd not been sexually violated, Moriarty had forced himself upon her to frighten her. Sherlock thought he'd been angry when John was strapped up in that bomb. Well, it was nothing compared to the fury he felt now. Another cursory glance at Hermione and he was able to see that aside from the bruising and the obvious fright from the ordeal, she was otherwise unharmed.

He'd already phoned Lestrade and sent a text to Potter, so that was taken care of. Now he just needed to get Hermione calm enough so she could rationally share what fully transpired between her and Moriarty. Without that data, he would be unable to discern Moriarty's true intentions for coming into his flat and touching what was his. Aside from being a proper dick, that is.

"Hermione," Sherlock spoke softly some time later, brushing her curls from her damp face so he could see her better. She glanced up at him with red-rimmed eyes, but she was no longer openly crying. "Can you tell me why he was here? What did he say?"

Taking a shaky breath, Hermione grabbed hold of his shirt and clutched the fabric in her palm. "Sherlock… Moriarty… He's going to expose us to the world. He wants to start a war between the Muggles and the Magic folk." Even as the words left her, Hermione could scarcely believe it herself.

"How? You've been hidden for centuries." Sherlock's brain was working quickly, trying to calculate the motive behind such a plan.

"I think he has something big planned, and I'm afraid that Mary may be the key to solving the entire thing."

Hermione's big, brown eyes met his and Sherlock felt his heart sink as pieces slowly fell into place. Carefully, so as not to startle her, Sherlock pulled Hermione and himself into a standing position. He did not let go over her, however, afraid that she might topple over in her distraught state. Going over the facts in his head quickly, Sherlock calculated what he needed in order to solve the case.

"I've figured out the pattern from the locations of Moriarty's victims."

Her face paled and she clutched harder at his shirt. "What is it, Sherlock? What's the pattern!"

"It's an arrow, and I believe we will find Mary where it is pointing," he explained, the tip of his tongue coming out to wet his lips. His breathing was even despite the cacophony of emotions raging through him at finally solving part of the case.

Hermione swallowed back her fear, trying to be brave. "Where is the arrow pointing?" she asked, already knowing she wasn't going to like the answer. As Sherlock's sea-colored eyes met hers, she felt her stomach clench in terror. When he spoke, his words were spoken softly, and Hermione felt her whole world begin to crumble.

"Diagon Alley. We will find her at the entrance to Diagon Alley."


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock and Hermione realize that Moriarty may be a larger threat than they originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. It's been ages since I've updated this and I apologize. Everything sort of got away from me. I can't promise a quick update after this one but I will finish this before the year is out. There are either three chapters and an epilogue left or four and an epilogue. I haven't decided, or rather, the muse hasn't decided how the last bit of the story is going to play out. Either way, I hope that you'll love it just as much as the rest. Thank you for always sticking with me. As always, thank you for the feedback!
> 
> Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading! You're the best! Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

There was no rest for the wicked or the weary this night. Sherlock and Hermione were once again out in the cold of London in the hopes of saving Mary before it was too late. Despite Sherlock's wishes that she remain behind, Hermione was right at his side. She was still rather worked up from her encounter with Moriarty, but she had to push through. Mary's life was at stake and they had to do everything they could to save her.

They hadn't yet shared with John their suspicions, hoping that they could get to the Leaky Cauldron without causing too much of a fuss. Sherlock had been prudent enough to let Lestrade know where they were going, and Hermione had informed Harry and Draco as well. John was still at home with Rosie, seemingly oblivious to the current danger or the sudden upturn in urgency.

When Sherlock had received word of Hermione's distress, he'd told John to hurry home and check on his child in case Moriarty went there next. As far as they knew, everything was well on that front. They hadn't heard anything to suggest otherwise which was a relief. After helping Hermione clean up and redress quickly, the two of them had swept off into the night in the hopes that they could finally catch Moriarty and end this nonsense.

Currently, they were walking briskly along the empty sidewalk, there having been no cabs to be found this time of night. Hermione was still shivering profusely; although, it was more out of fear than the cold. She swallowed back another tremor and then gingerly reached out to take Sherlock's leather-gloved hand. Despite their previous disagreement, he allowed her this comfort. He even went so far as to squeeze her hand in reassurance as they hurriedly made their way to where he believed Moriarty had Mary held captive.

"I'm hoping Harry and Draco will be able to locate Mary before we get there," Hermione whispered into the silence. She was more afraid than she cared to admit about what Moriarty may have done to Mary while being held captive.

In response, Sherlock hummed rather than respond to her comment aloud. He remained holding her hand as they walked, supportive yet stoic as he processed information she could barely comprehend. She didn't feel slighted; in fact, she was just thankful for the truce that seemed to have settled between them since Mary had been abducted and she'd been attacked. When, at long last, Sherlock did speak, it was soft and calculating.

"I do believe that Moriarty truly is three or four steps ahead of us at this point," he admitted, brow furrowed as they continued to walk. They were about halfway to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione leading the way. "Do you remember the night that we first met?"

"How could I forget?" Hermione asked, a small smile playing on her lips despite the seriousness of the situation. "You tumbled over the wall behind my shop."

Sherlock chuckled quietly, the rumble comforting at the moment. "Yes, I do recall feeling quite sore the next morning. However, my less than elegant entrance is not what I am referring to at the present."

Hermione's footsteps slowed as she tried to remember something else significant from that first night. Shaking her head when she recalled nothing out of the sorts aside from a Muggle being able to find Diagon Alley, she shrugged. "Tell me," she urged, "What am I missing?"

"I was chasing a burglar that night," he explained without arrogance. "He was wearing all black and a mask so that I never saw his true appearance. I chased him right to the wall behind your shop. Only," he trailed off here, the frown deepening on his face. "Only, when I tumbled over the wall, he was not there. You were instead and he'd completely vanished into thin air."

"You don't think that was-"

"Moriarty?" Sherlock turned his face and gave Hermione a smug smirk. "Oh, I do believe it was. He's been working behind the scenes from the start."

"Then where did he go?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice laced with fear that she couldn't quite suppress. "I was standing there the entire time and saw  _nothing_ , Sherlock. I'd been standing outside smoking cigarette after cigarette and hoping that I wouldn't have any more customers that night."

"I'm not sure," Sherlock said, sounding disgusted for having to admit to being clueless for once. "You're much more versed in the art of magic. Could he have powers we are not aware of?"

"As far as I know, he's as much a Muggle as you are. But…" Hermione stopped speaking and walking at the same time, her and Sherlock's connected hands causing him to jerk to a stop as well.

"But what, Hermione," Sherlock urged, dropping his hold on her hand to turn and grasp her by the shoulders instead. "If you know something or even suspect it, I need to know. The magical realm is an area where I am completely blind. You are my eyes. You are my... _everything_."

His words took Hermione by surprise and she felt her breath catch in her throat. She hadn't realized just how much she meant to Sherlock. Not to the case, but to  _him_. She saw it now, the way he was staring at her as if she were the only thing that mattered. Sure, he was worried about finding Mary and ending Moriarty's reign, but she'd been at risk too. He'd not let go of her in one form or another since returning to 221B and finding her a sobbing, trembling mess.

"Sherlock I-" She wanted to apologize, but she didn't know where to begin.

"Now is not the time," he whispered, gently tugging her into his chest and placing his chin upon the top of her head. "We can do the apologies and declarations of affection after we save Mary. For now, Hermione, please tell me what we could have been missing so that we may perhaps take the upper hand from Moriarty."

Taking a deep breath, to calm her frantic mind, as well as her pounding heart. Steady for the moment, she leaned back to look up into Sherlock's eyes. "It's a long shot, but maybe Moriarty does have magic. Limited magic… Untamed and volatile. It's happened before, but if it becomes unbalanced and uncontrollable, the owner can unleash a most horrifying monster on the world."

"Do you think that this is a possibility?" Sherlock inquired as he took in every single word she spoke. "What is this monster called?"

"It's known as an  _obscurus_ and one hasn't been seen or documented since the 1920s." Hermione swallowed roughly, fear rising like bile in her throat and making it difficult to speak. "I don't see why Moriarty would want to start a war between the Muggles and the magical world if he was an  _obscurus_."

"He's a psychopath, Hermione," Sherlock said simply. "There's no rationalizing what he may or may not do. I've told you what he did in the past. I faked my own death to save my friends and he faked his death to prepare for this nightmare. Now, we must get to Diagon Alley and save Mary."

"But if he's an  _obscurus_  we have to be prepared for the worst. They're known for being very unpredictable. I have to tell Draco and Harry. We're going to need more help!" Hermione began to frantically dig through her pockets in search of her mobile.

Before she could find it, however, there was a loud explosion a few streets over. It drew both Sherlock and Hermione's attention and sent them running without a second thought. They were close to where the Leaky Cauldron was located, just one street away, when John appeared looking tired but ready for battle. His presence caused them to slow to a jog until the three of them were standing at the corner.

"I heard an explosion. Think it's Moriarty?" the doctor asked, panting slightly as if he'd been running for longer than they'd seen. "Potter called and said you might know where Mary might be at."

Hermione and Sherlock shared a guilty look. She was just about to open her mouth and explain what they knew when Harry and Draco appeared from around the corner. Harry looked pale and worn while Draco looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Harry stepped forward, his hand trembling as it pushed through his hair.

"I'm glad you're here… I've never seen something like this before…" he muttered, glancing over at Draco. "I'm out of my league on this."

"It's an  _obscurus_ ," Draco told them, his attention focused on Hermione as she was the only one who would understand what he was talking about. "It's… It's...bad, Granger. I've only heard rumors. I've never seen it do that before. We've already called in the clean-up team…" And then he stopped, eyes wide as he noticed John standing there.

A chill ran down Hermione's spine at what her former lover had just said. Clean up team. That meant... "Is there a body, Draco?" she asked, her voice sounding far calmer than she felt. Merlin, how she wanted to close her eyes and wish away the sadness and pain they were all about to experience.

"Hermione," Draco said and then paused, shaking his head as if he couldn't go on any further. That was all the answer she needed to know that this was about to take a turn for the worse.

In a panic, Hermione broke free of Sherlock's hold and ran around the corner. She skidded to a stop in front of the Leaky Cauldron, her breath causing little clouds to appear in front of her mouth as she panted in the cold. As the realization of what she was seeing in front of her took hold, she was thankful that Sherlock came to a stop directly behind her.

This wasn't happening...

There, in a pool of crimson blood, lay Mary. Her eyes wide and glassy in death. It took everything Hermione had not to stumble to her knees. John wasn't as strong. The sound that came out of him as he hit the pavement was almost inhuman in nature. It brought chills down her spine and Sherlock wrapped an arm securely around her waist.

They had failed.

Mary was dead and Moriarty was still on the loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that Obscurus are typically children but I am taking creative liberty with this one. After all, Credence was far older than the typical Obscurus anyway. Moriarty is a twisted individual and I'm nowhere near done with this plot point so please bear with me. Thank you! xxDustNight


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a plan is formulated to catch Moriarty, even if it may not be what everyone thinks is best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, loves! As I said last chapter, we're getting close to the end. I've already started writing chapter thirteen and I plan on trying to write a chapter a day until I finish this… Well, that's my goal. It probably won't happen. Even if it did, I'll still space the chapters out a bit. Anyway, after this, only three to go. I hope you're still enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it! I adore this series. As always, thank you for the feedback!
> 
> Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading! I adore you! Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

"Adults are not supposed to become  _obscurus_."

"I'm well aware of that, Draco," Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose. As the night faded, she was becoming less and less patient. Draco was doing his very best to drive her insane, but she needed to keep it together for a little while longer so they could figure out their next move.

They were all back at 221B, aside from John, who had gone with the ambulance to the hospital. Mary's body was being examined by Molly as they spoke. While the immediate cause of death was clearly Moriarty's  _obscurus_  form, she still wanted to ensure that there was nothing else done to her prior to her death. John was there to separate himself from them, his anger too volatile right now to be with the rest of them. Molly was good at calming people; plus, she would ensure that their current predicament was kept under wraps.

Draco was standing by the windows, his arms crossed and looking paler than usual. "How are we supposed to handle this? An adult who can seemingly control his  _obscurus_  form? That's insane."

"I'm just as lost as you are," Hermione said, standing from where she was currently sitting in Sherlock's chair. Harry was sitting in hers, his glasses set aside and his face in his hands. "If we thought Moriarty was dangerous before, that was nothing compared to this."

"You said he's trying to start a war between the Muggles the wizards?" Draco prompted, never taking his eyes off of her.

As she stoked the fire, warming them all, she sighed. "Essentially, yes. He wants to expose the wizarding world, which will inevitably cause a war between us all. I don't see the Muggles being so forthcoming, especially after all these deaths."

"Mass chaos," Sherlock intoned, finally speaking up from where he stood stoically in the kitchen. When all eyes were on him, he stepped fully into the living area and met Hermione's gaze. "Moriarty is hoping to illicit mass chaos upon London. We have to stop him before this escalates even further."

"No shit, Sherlock," Draco mumbled under his breath as he pushed himself away from the window to stride forward. When he was toe-t0-toe with the detective, he gave him a once over before adding, "And are we to assume you have a plan on how to catch this madman?"

Sherlock merely quirked one elegant eyebrow at Draco's obvious challenge. Smirking, he said, "Indeed, I do. However, none of you will like what I believe we have to do in order to catch Moriarty." Sliding his gaze to Hermione's worried one, he added, "I can't say that I like it myself."

As Hermione stared back at her lover, she felt a chill run down her spine. She had a sneaking suspicion she already knew what he was going to suggest and she agreed, she hated it too. Deciding it was probably better if they put off this discussion until they rested and had something to eat, she said, "Before we talk about a plan, I want to talk this out."

"Talk what out?" Draco asked, practically whining. "The longer we spend here bullshitting around, the more likely this monster is out there plotting his next victim!"

"You need to calm down," Harry said with a sigh as he finally lifted his head and returned his glasses to his face. "I too would like to talk about this before we rush into some half-cocked plan." Gesturing to Hermione, he prompted her to continue. "What do you have to say, Hermione?"

"Thank you, Harry," she said and then placed her hands on her hips. "So we all know that  _obscurus_ tend to be children or young teenagers. What we're experiencing is someone who not only is far older than the typical person afflicted by this, but also seems to have the ability to control the  _obscurus_."

"Yes," Harry said, pushing into the conversation. "Which from my brief understanding of this monster, makes it far more dangerous than that of a child."

"Exactly." Hermione ran a hand through her curls and began to pace. "What I want to know is  _how_  did Moriarty go without being identified as a wizard? It's obvious his magic wasn't suppressed, but rather he was just never made aware of it."

"That accounts for his ability to control the  _obscurus_  at least," Draco muttered, annoyed by the entire situation.

"I agree." Hermione looked to Sherlock, who appeared to be taking all this information in and storing it away for later. "My guess is that he learned about his heritage while at the orphanage with Tom Riddle."

"He's too young to have truly  _known_ Riddle," Harry pointed out with a sigh. "From my research, into the orphanage, it appears that Riddle may have paid visits to the place sometime before his first demise in '81."

"So Moriarty probably learned of his magic from Riddle, who sensed what he was right away, no doubt. That makes more sense unless Moriarty got his hands on the Philosopher's stone," Hermione wryly pointed out.

"I don't think so," Harry said, biting back a grin in this grim situation. "Remember, Riddle couldn't even find it and it was right under his nose in my pocket."

"You're probably right," she said, glad that some of the tension had broken from their little exchange. They were quiet a spell, all lost in their thoughts as to what could have helped create Moriarty's  _obscurus_.

"You mentioned once before that Moriarty may have had to hide away his powers," Sherlock said, drawing everyone's attention back to himself. "It was when we realized we were searching for the same man."

Realization dawned on Hermione's face. She'd been so caught up in Sherlock and leaving Diagon Alley, that she'd forgotten all about that conversation. Letting out a low whistle, she said, "Yes, I recall that now. At the time, I thought he was just seeking vengeance for Riddle, but now…"

"Now, we know the truth," Draco interjected, slamming a fist against the palm of his other hand. "The bastard has his own agenda. I knew it couldn't be connected to the Dark Lord."

"It's been twenty bloody years, Draco," Harry groused, moving to stand and head to the kitchen. "I think you can call Voldemort by his given name by now."

"Or Tom Riddle as Moriarty knew him," Hermione pointed out with a grim grin. When Harry nodded, leaving them to make a cup of tea, she sat back down in Sherlock's chair and tried to get her thoughts back together.

"It matters not what we call that man," Sherlock said. "What matters now is tracking him down and ending this once and for all."

"I hate that I agree with you right now," Draco groaned, his trademark sneer upon his face.

Sherlock merely smirked. He didn't have time to go at it with the blond. He knew the wizard was just putting up a front anyway. His heart no longer beat for Hermione. Instead, he was currently falling in love with Molly, who was probably ridiculously infatuated with him as well. They'd spent enough time together over the past few weeks… Shaking himself, Sherlock managed to avoid getting off topic in his own mind so that he could focus on the problem at hand.

"Are we quite finished with the history of the matter and ready to formulate a working plan to catch Moriarty?" he inquired, rolling his eyes and trying his very best not to snap. He wasn't used to all this sitting around and  _talking_  when the game was afoot. Especially, seeing as how important this case was to all of them.

"Sure," Hermione supplied. She felt a sense of foreboding at what was to come, but was ready to hear about it nonetheless. "What do you think we should do?"

"Okay then," Draco said smugly, hitting Sherlock with his most pretentious stare. "What is your  _genius_ plan to catch this monster?"

"It's simple," Sherlock replied, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Moriarty is after Muggles and Muggleborns." Meeting Hermione's worried stare with a nod, he felt his heart thump once, then twice before he finished. Despite not understanding the human emotion, Sherlock had somehow fallen in love with the witch. This was going to hurt. "We use Hermione as bait."

In the kitchen, Harry dropped his mug of tea; the sound of it shattering as it hit the floor the only response to Sherlock's words.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which their plan unfolds and Hermione ventures to the crime scene...alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to keep this short… Thank you for reading! I'm thankful for the wonderful feedback this always gets. I don't want to prattle on too much because after you read this, you're going to want more! So go on and read, my loves! I'm going to start working on the next chapter!
> 
> Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading! You're seriously amazing! Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

The next night, Hermione stood on the sidewalk outside of 221B. Alone. It was against most of her friends' wishes, of course, but she agreed with Sherlock. There was no other way to draw Moriarty out of hiding and into the open unless they played their best hand. Their best hand being her, the only Muggleborn witch willing and with the skills to bring the bastard down.

Sighing, Hermione lifted her gaze and turned ever so slightly so she could peer back at the brightly lit windows of Sherlock's flat. Her lover was inside, probably pacing or sitting stoically in his chair as he waited for her signal. She was supposed to return to the Leaky Cauldron, or rather, the scene of the crime. Where Mary was murdered. Flinching, Hermione turned away from the building and tried to remember the plan.

She was to return to Diagon Alley, arriving just after Harry and Draco "cleared the scene". She was supposed to make it appear as if she was trying to find the two, hopefully enticing Moriarty to approach her obviously lonely form. Meanwhile, Harry and Draco would be stationed in the upstairs of one of the surrounding buildings, hidden from view and ready to capture Moriarty when he inevitably showed to engage with her.

At the same time, Sherlock would be on his way back to retrieve her so that she wasn't "alone". If all went according to plan, Hermione would never be in any true harm and they would have Moriarty in their custody before the morning. If things did take a turn, then at least Harry and Draco would get to her before she could be properly abducted. Shivering, Hermione decided that she'd pretended to wait for a cab long enough and began her trek through the city in the darkness. Behind her, 221B waited patiently for her safe return.

As Hermione wandered the streets of London, she thought of what brought her to this point. Had Sherlock never toppled over that wall into Diagon Alley she probably would not be working this case. She quite possibly would be standing in that same alley smoking her final cigarette of the night and getting ready to close up the shop before going home. She hoped that the murders wouldn't have taken the turn they did, but there was always that chance. If Sherlock was never part of the picture, Draco and Harry probably wouldn't have asked for her help.

It was a lot of what if's and maybe's. In reality, Hermione knew in her heart that if Muggleborns were being hunted, she would offer her help if need be. Moriarty wasn't meant to exist in her world. He was born a wizard and raised without knowing of magic. Sure, he was told of its existence later in life, but he probably would have lived a normal life if Tom Riddle hadn't corrupted him. Frowning, Hermione wondered if there were other witches and wizards out there that had no idea of their magical capabilities.

That was something to consider looking into after this mess was over and their worlds were safe once again. Pulling her jacket tighter around her shivering form, Hermione decided to bring it up to Sherlock. He may be interested in researching the topic with her. She could easily see them traveling the country, or world, looking for those with magic in their soul and allowing them to see how special they truly were. It was this thought that caused Hermione to pause at the corner two blocks from the Leaky Cauldron.

Sherlock was able to get into Diagon Alley without knowing anything of magic. He and Moriarty also were drawn toward one another a multitude of times now. Was it possible Sherlock had magic within him? Magic that, until recently, he had no idea existed. A bit of excitement went through Hermione at the possibility. Perhaps there was a way to test the theory… A way to trigger the inner magic and bring it forward. Laughing at her wayward thoughts, Hermione shook her head and crossed the road not wanting to dawdle.

There was no reason to get her hopes up at the moment. She was on a mission-her very first in quite some time. If she didn't clear her mind, that was when the mistakes would happen. As she approached the corner where they'd all met the night before, Hermione further prepared herself for their plan to unfold. Slowing her steps, she made it appear as if she wasn't in a hurry, and carefully glanced around as if worried she'd been followed. It wasn't all that hard to pretend that was the case. Moriarty very well could be lurking in the shadows and it's what they were hoping for in order for the plan to work.

She withheld her sigh of relief at seeing the crime scene vacant of Mary's bloodied body. That was a sight that would forever be seared into her mind, and probably everyone else's as well. Just as planned, Hermione faltered at finding no one else in front of the Leaky Cauldron's obviously closed storefront. She also made a show of looking around as if wondering where Harry and Draco had disappeared to. With bated breath she prayed they were hiding in the building behind her, waiting to help her if this went wrong.

A second later, she was shoving her hand into the pocket of her jacket to withdraw her mobile. Quickly, she swiped it to life and dialed Sherlock. This was his signal; her call would let him know that it she was where she was meant to be and that things were in motion. She waited with bated breath for him to answer, her eyes scanning the area

"Hello?" his deep voice answered her call on the fifth ring. It was both a relief and a nerve wracking experience to hear him right now.

"Sherlock?" she began, turning in a slow circle to look behind her. "Have Harry and Draco returned to the flat?"

"No…" he trailed off. "I thought you were meeting them at the crime scene?"

"I was but they're not here. Everything has been cleaned up," she explained, biting her lip. "It's just me."

"You're alone?" He allowed a tinge of worry into his voice and Hermione wasn't sure if that was fake or not.

"Yes, Sherlock," she answered, once more glancing around. "Something isn't right. They were supposed to be here."

"Perhaps they returned to the Ministry or Molly called them with news," Sherlock supplied.

"I don't know," she said. Taking a deep breath, she sighed, watching as her breath fogged up in front of her. "I'm coming home. I don't want to wait here for them and I can't get into Diagon Alley with the Leaky Cauldron closed from the crime scene."

"Absolutely not," Sherlock said sternly. "I didn't like the idea of you wondering there on your own to begin with."

"Well, what do you suppose I do?"

"Wait there for me. I will come to you and we'll continue the search for Moriarty on our own." Sherlock waited a moment for her to pretend to contemplate this scenario before speaking again. When he did, she could tell he was trying very hard to keep the worry from his voice. "Do you understand?"

She nodded even though he couldn't see her. "Yes, alright. I'll wait here, but can you hurry? I have a bad feeling about this and I don't want to be here longer than absolutely necessary."

"I will do my best," he murmured, his voice full of warmth and reassurance. "Harry and Draco may yet return before I arrive."

"They might," she admitted, glancing around. She had the worst feeling that she was being watched, and not by Draco and Harry alone. This was what they wanted, but it didn't make it reassuring. Neither said anything for a second, and she listened as Sherlock moved about his flat, probably in search of his jacket.

Their conversation had gone just as they'd rehearsed, but she was about to go off script. She couldn't risk not telling him one more time how she truly felt, knowing that one or both of them might not make it out of this alive. Swallowing back her fear for the moment, decided to keep her words simple and to the point.

"Sherlock?" she said, closing her eyes for the briefest second as she felt her heartbeat quicken with fear.

"Yes?" His voice was quiet, laced with worry and probably anticipation of what she was about to say next. She could hear him putting on his long coat as he stomped down the stairs on his way to the front door.

"I love you," she told him, opening her eyes and staring out across the deserted street. Her hand held her mobile tightly, so much so that her knuckles were white with the grip.

On the other side of the line, there was a sigh, but not in annoyance. "I'll be there as soon as possible. Do not move." And then the line went dead, leaving her entirely alone standing on that street. It didn't matter that he was probably running as fast as he could through the streets to get to her, she was alone and that terrified her beyond belief.

But, this was it: the plan they so carefully calculated. Everything was in motion, and it would either work or, it wouldn't. After this ended, and Moriarty was captured, she wanted nothing more than to live a simple life with Sherlock. She couldn't do this again. Missions were far too much for her post-war issues. Sliding her mobile back into the pocket of her jacket, her finger tips briefly brushed against her wand. She didn't dare draw it, however. Later, though, she would wish she had. Hearing footsteps behind her, Hermione tensed, but before she could turn around, there was a stabbing pain in the side of her neck.

Then, everything went black.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Moriarty makes his final play and the fate of Hermione and Sherlock is up in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the last chapter was the most reviews I've ever received on a single chapter of this story! Thank you so much! I'm glad that the cliffhanger delivered and I must apologize for the one on this chapter as well. However, only one more chapter after this and then we're done! Well, aside from a possible epilogue I may do... But that would happen this summer. Anyway, enjoy the climax of our tale and I look forward to your feedback!
> 
> Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading as always! You're such a doll! Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

Pain was nothing new to Hermione. Neither was torture. That's how she knew she was going to make it through this. But, that didn't make it any easier…

Heart pounding, Hermione kept her eyes closed a moment longer after regaining consciousness. She knew where she was, of course; the familiar scents had signalled that the second she was aware once more. 221B Baker Street. Moriarty had returned her to Sherlock's flat for whatever plan he had concocted.  _Plan_. A chill ran down her spine as she realized their plan had obviously gone horribly wrong.

The pain in her neck stung like that of a brand new bug bite. Obviously, he had drugged her; the groggy feeling lingering in her head and limbs. She pushed through the fog, knowing she needed a clear, level head for what was to come. Suddenly sensing Moriarty's presence, or rather, his unpredictable magical core, Hermione was aware she was no longer alone. She did not attempt to struggle at the bindings holding her to the chair, however. Instead, she remained with her eyes closed and her head bowed as if still unconscious.

"Come now, Ms. Granger. Do not insult me. You know I am aware that you have been awake for quite some time," Moriarty drawled. The soles of his expensive leather shoes barely made a sound on the floor as he approached.

Opening her eyes, Hermione blinked rapidly to clear her vision before focusing on the man before her.  _No_ , she thought. He was not just a man. He was a wizard. An uncontrollable one at that. She would need to be careful lest she wanted to die this night. Wetting her chapped lips with her tongue, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled to calm herself.

"Moriarty," she said simply. "Why have you brought me here?"

"Not going to scream for help?" he asked by way of answer. "Mrs. Hudson is right downstairs."

"I'd rather not die tonight," she replied. "We both know if I even attempt to yell or call for help, you'll silence me in a second. It would be a waste of energy." She'd learned that the last time she'd been tortured.

"I'd rather not get my hands dirty." Moriarty took a measured step toward her bound form.

"I said nothing about using your hands," she said, earning herself a raised eyebrow.

"I take it you have discovered what I am." He stopped directly in front of her, his eyes peering down at her with so much hate that it made Hermione's skin crawl.

"You're a wizard," she told him, flinching when he lifted one hand as if to strike her across the face. He seemed to catch himself, though. He lowered his arm, allowing her to breathe a sigh of relief.

"I'm a  _monster_ ," he hissed, obviously seething but in control of himself once more.

"No," Hermione countered, knowing she was treading extremely shallow water. "Your suppressed magic has formed an  _Obscurus_. We can get you the help you need. We can separate the creature from you and then teach you how to control your magic." She was rambling, hoping to buy some time so she could be found by Sherlock or her other friends.

He scoffed at her, sliding both hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Your kind would not take kindly to me after all I have done," he said, each word dripping with disdain. "That's probably why my parents left me to rot in that orphanage."

"My kind is yours too, James," she said softly, switching to his first name. "You were denied the knowledge of your heritage, but after serving time for your crimes, we would accept you nonetheless." It may have been a bit of a lie, but she wasn't entirely off.

This time, her words were met with dark laughter. "Is that how Tom Riddle was treated? Murder multiple people and then everything would be fine given I serve my time?" He turned away from her, running hands through his hair in frustration.

"Tom Riddle-"

In an instant Moriarty had whirled back around and grabbed hold of the arms of the chair. Leveling his face with hers, he hissed, "Riddle killed just as I have and he was  _murdered_  by  _your kind_."

"Are you going to kill me too?" Hermione whispered the question with fear, her eyes trained on his. They were dark, swirling with the madness of the  _Obscurus_. There was a very real chance she was going to die tonight. Just as Mary, Dennis, and the others, she was going to die…

"You will not be the only one to die tonight," Moriarty revealed with a sneer. Standing at his full height, he glared down at her. "Sherlock will join you. Your deaths will start the war between both the Magical and Non Magical worlds."

As grief washed over her, Hermione recalled all the wonderful days and nights she and Sherlock spent together. Both in Diagon Alley and here at 221B. He didn't deserve to die and neither did she. They had no way of stopping Moriarty and his  _Obscurus_  at this point. Soon, Sherlock would figure out what happened and come looking for her here. Then they would both be defeated by the  _Obscurus_  and the war would begin. If only they had thought this through. Idiots… All of them, and now it was too late.

* * *

 

It took Sherlock far longer than it should have to figure out what had gone wrong. Mostly, this was due to the fact that he was a simple Muggle and had no idea about wards or anti-apparition spells. John did, oddly enough, and he had shown up about five minutes into Sherlock's frantic search of the empty street. He had one hell of a time deciphering why John was there in his panic, but yet he was.

The good doctor had appeared at the corner, his face full of grave resolution. He'd called out to Sherlock, who was in a right state as he tried to locate his missing lover. Pulling Sherlock down from a ledge where he had been trying to climb into a second-story window, John managed to explain all about the wards and how Harry and Draco could be anywhere right now. Molly had filled him in on the plan when she hadn't heard from anyone, specifically Draco. Calmly, John told Sherlock to think about where Moriarty might take Hermione and that's when it clicked.

Baker Street.

The bastard would take her to where she would normally feel safest only two sever that comfort entirely. Taking John's hand, he raced them back to the flat, too worried about Hermione to think of anything else. Oh how he regretted not telling her how he felt earlier. And for lashing out and suspecting she was in love with John. It all felt so trivial now that the risk of losing her was so high. He would fix this. They would get there in time to stop Moriarty and then all would be right in the world.

He couldn't live if it went any other way.

* * *

 

"So when Sherlock arrives, are you going to immediately kill us or does one of us have to watch the other die first?" Hermione hated that she even had to ask such a question, but her head was screaming at her to continue wasting time. Sherlock had yet to arrive, or any of her other friends for that matter. "You know, for dramatics?"

Moriarty chuckled, turning away from where he was staring out the window into the night beyond. He made no move toward her, but she could feel the hostility bubbling under the surface of his calm façade. Smirking he said, "We're not in a dramatic movie, darling. This is good ol' fashioned retribution. You and Sherlock? You're just the collateral damage."

"I would think someone like you wouldn't want to risk losing their chance at learning more about what they truly are." Clearly carefully veiled insults were not going to work so she was going to have to try another approach. "Don't you want to know what it's like to use magic?"

"I was able to create wards around the street earlier," Moriarty said with sweet satisfaction. He was obviously pleased with himself. "Blocked your two Wizarding buddies from hiding within safe distance of you."

Hermione swallowed back another round of terror. Where had Draco and Harry ended up? Moriarty's magic was volatile; his wards could have sent them anywhere. What if they were  _splinched_? Or worse,  _dead_. Closing her eyes, Hermione thought this night couldn't get any worse and yet the hits just kept coming. She didn't want to do it, but she felt it was time to plead, beg even, to spare her and Sherlock's lives. And anyone else he saw fit to murder for his dastardly scheme.

There was a crash downstairs as the front door was thrown open. Shouting was heard and then the pounding of feet on the stairs. She knew it was going to be Sherlock. Who else would it be? This was it the moment of truth and Hermione had no plan or way to save them. Merlin, what she wouldn't give to be snuggled up by the fire in her flat in Diagon Alley right now… But then, she wouldn't know what it was like to love someone like Sherlock Holmes.

Opening her eyes, she accepted her fate as Sherlock burst through the door. He had no weapon to fight Moriarty, only his wits and devotion to her. Still, she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of him. "Sherlock," she said, drawing his attention for a mere second before his gaze returned to Moriarty.

"I don't remember planning a party," Sherlock drawled, taking a few steps into the room. "Then again, you always did make yourself at home regardless of whether or not you were invited."

"How lovely of you to join us, Sherlock," Moriarty teased, his eyes full of hatred. "Hermione and I were just discussing which of you would be the first to die."

"Interesting conversation considering you're supposed to be dead." Sherlock quirked a single eyebrow, his voice remaining calm.

"I could say the same thing about you," Moriarty pointed out.

Sherlock waved the comment away. "Bygones." Narrowing his eyes, he took another step toward Moriarty, attempting to place himself between the man and his lover. "Let's discuss this war you have planned, shall we?"

"Yes, I really would like to set things in motion," Moriarty said, baring his teeth in a horrifying grin. "I've grown bored of our cat and mouse games."

"Sherlock," Hermione said cautiously as she watched Moriarty lift his hands and hold them toward the detective. "Remember he can control the  _Obscurus_  within him. Be careful."

"She speaks the truth. I taught myself how to control this monster when I realized I held magic within me," Moriarty told them, waving his hands and smiling when the smallest amount of swirling darkness began to form. "The angrier I grew the more I was able to send forth from my body. Now, it does exactly as I want it to and tonight," he paused for effect, eyes glinting with the darkness within. "Tonight I am going to use it to begin the great war between the two worlds!"

With that, he thrust his hands forward and Sherlock and Hermione watched with horror as the  _Obscurus_  came into view. Hermione heard herself scream as she realized it was directed at her. With her body bound to the chair and her wand who knew where, she was utterly defenseless. Sherlock seemed to realize this at the same time she did, their eyes meeting across the room. She wanted to say so many things to him in that second, but there simply wasn't time.

The  _Obscurus_  grew and grew until it engulfed Moriarty, obscuring him from view. Sherlock tore his eyes away from Hermione to see if there was a way to stop it but found none. In the end, there was only one thing he could do and so, he did it without second thought. Throwing caution to the wind, he let his heart guide him in order to try and save the witch he loved.

"No!" Sherlocked shouted, throwing himself in front of Hermione to protect her from the  _Obscurus_ as it tore outward from Moriarty's body. It surged forward in a chaotic wave before barreling into Sherlock's body as he protected her from the creature.

There was no time to react, not that she could anyway bound to the chair as she was. She simply gasped, eyes wide with terror as the swirling, black chaos exploded upon its impact with Sherlock's body. In an instant, the darkness filled the room. The roaring so loud Hermione thought her ears may start to bleed. Before that could happen, there was a screeching scream and then the darkness drew back nearly as fast as it had appeared.

The  _Obscurus_ , intended for her, had hit Sherlock at full force. It knocked him to his knees before shattering into smoke and returning swiftly to Moriarty's body. The intensity of the attack and then retreat took Moriarty by surprise. His body crumpled in on itself, toppling over and causing his head to hit the corner of the desk on the way to the floor. As he lay there unconscious, Hermione's harsh breathing was the only sound in the room for a moment. Then came the sounds of multiple feet running on the stairs.

Still nearly hyperventilating, Hermione tore her gaze away from the broken man in front of her to watch John, Draco, and Harry burst into the room. The two wizards had their wands drawn and John had a gun. Without prompting, John ran to her and the other two went to take care of Moriarty. This was all happening so quickly, Hermione still hadn't spoken a word.

When he reached her, John asked, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I-I'm fine," she muttered, her eyes meeting his briefly before she craned to see past him to where Sherlock was kneeling. "He… Sherlock took the brunt of the attack. The  _Obscurus_  should have killed him…"

"Let me get you untied first, Hermione," John mumbled, sparing Sherlock the briefest of glances. "Then we'll take care of him." She nodded unable to say anything else as he went to work. "Good. You're breathing too quickly. Just slow it down. There you go."

John was able to unfasten her bindings quickly, his army skills coming in handy in the aftermath of the attack. Once she was free, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely as a way of thanks. She was much too distraught to offer more than that. He patted her back reassuringly and then allowed her to untangle herself and step aside so she could see the destroyed room. In reality, she only had eyes for Sherlock.

With Draco and Harry securing Moriarty's unconscious body, Hermione rushed to Sherlock, who was still kneeling on the floor. His breathing was erratic and he was trembling something fierce. He looked to his hands and then brought them to his chest as if checking for injury. When he found none, he met her gaze. She frowned at the crazed look in his eyes. As soon as he opened his mouth to speak, Hermione knew something was wrong.

As his body started seizing, he fell forward into her arms. Quickly, she helped him to lie on the floor, her eyes already seeking out John. The doctor was halfway to them before the screaming started. "Oh Merlin…" she whispered, tears falling freely from her eyes as John rolled him onto his side and took charge. "Please. You can't do this. You have to make it through. I need you, Sherlock. I love you."

John gave her a sympathetic look but continued his work. The seizing slowed and then Sherlock regained consciousness for a brief second. His sea-colored eyes met her gaze and he reached out to her. She took his hand and held fast, her heart nearly beating out of her chest. She didn't expect him to speak but then he cleared his throat. She held his hand within both of hers, holding it to her chest and praying for a miracle.

She and John watched as he struggled to swallow and then speak. The  _Obscurus_  had done more damage than it appeared. Internally, they had no idea what was going on, but they would soon. They would get him to the hospital and repair whatever damage had been done. As Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, Hermione felt a flutter of hope. If only she knew it would be short lived...

"Love...you...too…" Sherlock managed to whisper before his eyes rolled back and his heart stopped beating.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fates of Hermione and Sherlock are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Hello! We are finally at the end of this tale! I can't even begin to comprehend that, but here we are. I never expected this series to be more than nonsensical drabbles when I first began Nights in Diagon Alley. Then a plot unfolded and away we went with Hermione and Sherlock. I'm still astounded that I even wrote the side-story, One Night in Hogsmeade. What I'm trying to say is, I'm so thankful I was able to spin a tale so many of you adore and asked for more!
> 
> I know many of you will be sad to see this end, but never fret! I hope to start a new Hermione/Sherlock fic sometime in the New Year (2019). I'm currently working on finishing out many of my other WiPs, so that is what will delay me. I'll try and hurry, I promise!
> 
> Anyway, thank you, readers, for always being so wonderful. This is for you and I hope you love it! I never would have pushed myself through to finishing this if it wasn't for all your lovely feedback. Enjoy this final chapter, darlings!
> 
> And I can't forget to thank my fabulous beta, GaeilgeRua for working with me on this story! I'm so very grateful to you for your guidance and grammar skills. This fic would only be half as good without your help. I love you forever! Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

Death wasn't fair.

That was what Hermione was thinking as she stood in the drizzle, staring down at the new grave before her. There was no reason for people to die so young and with so much more life to live. Families to raise, friends to enjoy, partners to love. All of that could be ripped from you within a matter of minutes, and it just wasn't  _fair_. It didn't matter that she'd been through this before, war and death. It never got any easier and it probably never would.

It wasn't Harry or even Draco who finally came to her side as she stood weeping silently. It was John, and he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and held her close for a few more minutes as she said her final goodbyes. He didn't try to rush her nor did she suspect that he would. In fact, he had more of a right to be standing here crying than she did. Taking a deep breath and pulling herself together as best she could, Hermione extracted herself from his embrace and wiped at her mascara smudged eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, peering up at John with a tearful expression. "It should never have come to this."

John heaved a sigh and then placed both his hands on her shoulders. Looking her directly in the eye, he said, "I don't blame you, so please don't blame yourself."

"I know, and that's what makes this so much worse," she muttered, bowing her head as a few more tears slipped free of her eyes.

"Listen to me, Hermione," John started, using the tip of one finger to push her chin up. "We're not guaranteed every day. Living the lives we do… We take the risk that each day could be our last."

"How are you so calm about all of this?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Because I have to be," he admitted with a sigh. "Now, come on. Let's get back to 221B, okay?"

Hermione nodded despite herself as John began leading them away from the gravesite. There was a cab waiting to return them to Baker Street. She didn't really want to go back there. Too many memories of happier times, even if they had been working the case. Harry and Draco had done a fantastic job of restoring the flat to its former 'glory', but it was still tainted with the memory of Moriarty and his destruction.

* * *

 

The cab ride was uneventful and extremely quiet. John fiddled around on his mobile, texting a few people. Hermione didn't bother to do anything more than stare out the rain-slicked window as the city blurred on by. When they arrived at Baker Street, John hurried to get out of the cab and open the door for Hermione. She accepted his hand and then stood there awkwardly as he paid the fare. When the cab drove off, John turned to her, and she closed her eyes.

"I think I need a minute before I go upstairs," she said honestly.

"Sure," he said and then gave her a small smile. "I'm going to go and check on Mrs. Hudson. I want to make sure she got home safely. Don't stand out here in the rain too long, yeah?"

"I won't. I promise." She returned his smile, if briefly, and then turned her gaze up at the windows of 221B. "I'll see you up there."

She only stood on the sidewalk a few more minutes before gathering herself together and entering the weathered door. She paused only to fix the knocker, or rather, make it crooked once more. Mycroft must have stopped by earlier while they were at the funeral. He always made sure everything was neat and orderly. Shutting the door behind her, she recalled meeting the man for the first time. It was the morning after Moriarty had attacked her and Sherlock… He was definitely interesting and knew far more about their world than she would have thought by just looking at him.

He'd helped them come up with a coverup for the explosion that rocked the flat, as well as the multiple deaths that ravaged the city. Given the circumstances, she was surprised he never appeared more distraught over the matter. John told her it was just his way, but she knew he had to be feeling something over what happened to his little brother.  _Right_?

Shaking those thoughts from her head, Hermione began a slow ascent up the stairs. She knew what awaited her and she wasn't looking forward to it. At all. Nevertheless, she eventually reached the landing and was forced to take in the humble facade that was 221B Baker Street. It seemed colder somehow, less welcoming than before. She knew it was because Sherlock wasn't there to fill it with his presence.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione pushed her heartache aside and fully entered the room. She wandered over to the chairs by the fireplace and sat down in Sherlock's rather than her's or John's. Merlin, how she missed him so. Smoothing her hands over the worn leather, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine him here with her. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be here with her.

A strangled sob escaped her before she could stop it and she covered her mouth with one hand so more wouldn't follow suit. It didn't take much more for the tears to start running down her already stained face. This was most definitely not how it was supposed to be.  _Sherlock_ … She loved him more now than ever before. He'd sacrificed himself for her; how couldn't she love him? And he, apparently, loved her as well. How could he finally say those words aloud only to be torn from her an instant later?

"Hermione?"

She looked up at John's voice, a worried expression on his face. Quickly, she dabbed at her eyes once more, hating that he was always seeing her fall to pieces. Before she could open her mouth to speak, however, her mobile pinged, so she extracted it from the jacket she still wore. Frowning, she checked the message that had come through. Her heart began to race, and her skin felt clammy. "It's Harry." She jumped to her feet, forgetting her tears for the moment. "We have to go!"

"Where to?" John said, eyes wide with fear. He was already sliding his arms back into his jacket.

Hermione rushed to his side and looped an arm through his. Without having time to explain adequately, she merely replied, "St. Mungo's. Sherlock's awake, and he's asking for us." Then, she  _apparated_ them away, leaving the flat empty once more.

* * *

 

Hermione and John arrived in the  _Apparition_ Room at St. Mungo's and then both immediately took off running in the direction of the ward where Sherlock was recovering. Magical comas were no laughing matter, and Sherlock had been in one for nearly a week now. After his heart stopped beating, Harry had quickly pulled him from Hermione's arms and  _apparated_ him to get treatment. Of course, Hermione wasn't far behind but after having your body blasted by an  _Obscurus_ , who knew what was going to happen.

Numerous surgeries and copious amounts of life-sustaining potions. When at long last the Healers told Hermione and the others that Sherlock was stable, but in a magical coma, they had no idea what to expect. So they'd just gone on with their lives in much the usual manner as possible. Draco and Harry took care of closing out the case, with Mycroft's help. John prepared for Mary's funeral, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson took turns caring for little Rosie and Hermione. Now, though… Now there seemed to be hope.

Hermione reached the door first and didn't even bother to catch her breath before storming inside. Harry was there, a smile on his face as he chatted with Sherlock, who was blessedly awake in the bed. Hermione's heart swelled with pure joy as he paused mid-sentence and turned his sea-colored gaze upon her. Without a word, he reached out to her, clearly wanting her to come to him. Not waiting for a second, she rushed to his side, looking him over to make sure that this was indeed happening.

Smiling tearfully as she realized he was alive and well, Hermione settled herself in the chair next to Sherlock's and swept up his outstretched hand with her own. She squeezed tightly, not wanting to let go now or ever. Taking a deep, calming breath, she found words escaped her. Somewhere behind her, Harry excused himself and allowed them some privacy.

"Hermione," Sherlock began, sounding just the same as he always did. "You've been crying."

"It was Mary's funeral," she said by way of explanation, completely avoiding telling him she'd cried over him more than she had for Mary. The corner of his mouth lifted, showing he knew she was lying. He didn't call her on it, though, and for that she was grateful. "She's buried under this beautiful tree, Sherlock. I'll take you to say your goodbyes when they release you. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" she asked, inching closer and holding his hand against her breast.

"You're rambling," Sherlock said and then laughed when Hermione playfully hit him in the chest. He feigned pain and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek.

"Hush, you," she scolded, now holding his hand to her lips and kissing it. "I thought you were dead, and then I thought you would be forever in the magical coma. The Healers had no idea what to expect."

"I can't die yet," he told her in a serious tone. "I've much to learn still about your world, and I'm not yet finished with you either." Affectionately, he used his free hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her tearstained skin. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

"It's fine. You're here now, and that's all that matters," Hermione whispered, a grin lifting her lips. "Did the Healers say when we can take you home?"

He waved off her question. "They tell me nothing of importance. I wanted to know about Moriarty and what happens to him now that he's been procured. Luckily, Potter was able to fill me in before you arrived. Magical vaults in Azkaban. He's going to love spending his remaining days there." Sherlock smirked, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I saw Harry but was Draco here too?" Hermione inquired, glancing over her shoulder toward the door. "He was surprisingly concerned about your wellbeing, especially after he learned you saved my life."

"He's on a date."

"A date?" Hermione's face showed the surprise she felt.

"Yes," Sherlock intoned. "He and Molly are probably sipping expensive wine and gazing adoringly into one another's eyes as we speak."

"Unbelievable," she muttered, shaking her head. "Well, now that the case is over and the threat has abated, I don't see why they can't be happy. Draco deserves happiness."

"As does Molly."

"I think we all do," Hermione admitted quietly. Sherlock merely nodded.

They were silent a spell, both staring at one another briefly before looking away. Hermione cleared her throat, unsure what to say next. There were so many things going through her head, but they had all the time in the world to sift through them together. Moriarty was taken care of, Sherlock was alive, and they could finally just  _be…_  As if reading her chaotic thoughts, Sherlock took over the conversation.

"That's it," Sherlock said, smoothing out the sheet covering his legs. "I see no other way around it."

"What's that?" Hermione inquired, quirking an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"You and I. We're just going to have to get married, and you'll move into the flat permanently." Sherlock said all of this with a straight face but looked up when Hermione gasped.

"Are you asking me to marry you?" Hermione sputtered, one hand coming to rest over her heart.

"Isn't that what two people in love tend to do?" Sherlock began, frowning in confusion at her apparent line of questioning. "I'll admit, I never thought about marriage before but-"

Hermione cut him off, throwing herself into his arms and kissing him soundly. That went on for quite some time before she reluctantly pulled away. Placing her forehead against his, she sighed happily. "Of course, Sherlock Holmes. I'll marry you. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Hermione," he replied, one hand carding through her curls. "I apologize for not telling you sooner. The case-"

"You don't have to apologize," Hermione told him. "I'm more than happy to be your wife and spend the rest of our lives together. Solving cases and whatever life throws our way."

"If that's what you wish." He kissed her again, relishing the way she melted into his embrace. "Besides," Sherlock said with a coy grin. "Someone is going to have to teach me how to use this thing." At that revelation, he lifted his hand and revealed a wand, which he then proceeded to use to shoot red sparks into the air.

Hermione's mouth popped open in shock. As the realization set in that the  _Obscurus_  attack must have triggered Sherlock's hidden magic, Hermione merely shook her head. Of  _course,_  Sherlock was a wizard. It all made sense now…

Sighing, she said, "Clearly, Nights in 221B will never be the same."

Fin


End file.
